Mind Maze
by shadowluminus
Summary: A ruthless assassin, most feared in the kingdom. A handsome, beloved Prince, wielding a kingdom-shaking secret. How strange it must be to fall in love with your killer and drag her into that maze of your mind! Because what if Cinderella came to the ball not to dance with the prince, but to assassinate him?
1. Prologue

**Mind Maze**

 **Prologue**

The assassin was perched behind a large boulder, hiding, waiting, face concealed by a black cloak and hood. The assassin's body was tense, hands hovering close to the numerous weapons strapped and hidden around the black-covered body.

From far, far away came the sound of clattering of a carriage and horses. It drew closer slowly, since the horses had been dragging the carriage and the King and Queen inside all day already.

The assassin, part of the patient shadows, continued to wait. This chance cannot be missed; not when the price of the King and Queen's lives were so high.

Then, when the carriage was almost right behind the boulder, the assassin sprung from the dark hiding place, drew gleaming weapons, and attacked.

The driver gave a shout of alarm that was quickly silenced with a swipe of a silver blade. Dark blood sprayed. The horse reared, surprised by the sudden lack of control. Inside the decorated box, the assassin could hear the Queen's voice, cold and imperial, with a hint of fear, asking her husband of the situation. Her husband, the King, did not reply. He did not know.

They didn't notice that their death was upon them until the assassin pried open the door, and with two well-aimed throws, ended the lives of the two most important people of the neighboring country.

The assassin did not care about their status. After all, their lives were worth some money, and the assassin needed that money.

A match was pulled from a concealed pocket of that black cloak, and within moments, the carriage was burning to ashes, along with all the corpses stuffed inside the box.

One week later, when the death bells reverberated through the land, rolling through the fields of one prospering and beautiful kingdom and ending after reaching the rocky deserts of its neighbor.

The assassin sat on a boulder, juggling two knives and a rock. The mournful chimes of church bells rolled past that boulder. Then there was a smile in the darkness of the hood, that grin nothing short of feral. Ruthlessness incarnate.

A black-clad figure slid gracefully from the rock and began striding purposefully across the desert and towards civilization.

Now… payment.


	2. Past and Present

**I**

 _"Hello there," a pretty girl with golden hair braided back with a royal blue ribbon smiled down kindly at the little boy before her._

 _"Hello!" the little boy greeted back cheerfully. "You are very pretty."_

 _The girl laughed. "Why, aren't you the little flatterer?" She kneeled to be in level with the boy. "You are quite a handsome and healthy boy too."_

 _He beamed at her as she asked, "What is your name?"_

 _At that, the boy frowned lightly. "You don't know my name?"_

 _She reflected his puzzled expression. "Am I supposed to?"_

 _"Yes," the boy's frown deepened. "Mother told me everyone knows me."_

'Pride,' _she frowned and mentally shook her head._ 'I don't like pride.'

 _However, she forced a smile onto her lips once more. "If you are so high and mighty, will you mind helping me with something?"_

 _The boy's frown did not fade. "What is it?"_

 _"There is an evil witch in this forest," her voice dropped to a whisper, as if telling him an important secret, "and I need a warrior to help me slay it. Will you be willing to help?"_

 _"Those are the jobs of hunters," he said haughtily. "I'm not a hunter. I'm a prince."_

 _Immediately, the older girl's smile disappeared. Her eyes grew wide with shock. "A prince…"_

 _The boy lifted his chin high. "Yes, I am a prince. That's why you should-,"_

 _At that moment, there was a woman's voice as she called a name._

 _The boy spun around, calling back. "Mother!"_

 _The Queen._

 _The girl's eyes were wide, her face drained of color._

 _When the little prince turned back to face her, he couldn't help but be curious. "What is wrong with you?"_

 _That question seemed to jerk the girl from her daze, and immediately, her hand shot out, the heel of her palm slamming into the boy's temple as she muttered a word under her breath. Then, she fled, disappearing in the shadows of the trees._

 _The boy, knocked off his balance, got to his knees slowly, one hand rubbing his throbbing temple._ 'What was that for?' _he wondered, when suddenly, tendrils of darkness invaded his vision._

 _No, not just his vision, his mind, his consciousness, his entire body._

 _Suffocating, choking darkness._

 _For a moment, all was silent in the forest except for the queen's call for her son._

 _Then, the boy's mouth opened-_

His eyes snapped open wide, haunted by tendrils of shadows and writhing darkness- and he _screamed_.

 **λαβύρινθο του μυαλού**

The moment Clarisse's eyes open at dawn, she was in a hurry. A hurry to dress, a hurry to the market, a hurry for the best food, a hurry back home to make breakfast for her frail mother, then a hurry to her job at the bar that pays much too little to support her mother and her. After a busy day in the stinking hellhole, Clarisse would hurry home at sunset with coins in the pocket of her skirt to tend to her mother, hurry to make dinner, hurry to tidy things up, and hurry into bed to get as much sleep as she could.

Then the cycle restarts.

Every day, it feels as if there weren't enough hours in a day, there weren't enough shortcuts to her final locations, and there weren't enough space to breathe.

But Clarisse, having been born in this small, cluttered, fast-paced town in the outskirts of their kingdom, was used to the suffocating lack of time. Or you can say that she has no choice but to get used to it. After all, her mother was extremely sick, and had been like that for a long time. Clarisse was no doctor, and she didn't have the time or money to become one, so all she could do was make as much money as she could to actually find a doctor and get him to either heal her mother or at least get some medicine from those almighty physicians.

"Good morning," Clarisse greeted the stall-keeper while scanning the food on his stall. She picked the necessary ones and handed the few coins she had with her before picking up the bag and rushing down the road to another stall.

When she got what she needed, she began to head back home.

As she passed a group of giggling, gossiping girls, she heard them whisper something about a ball at the capital for the Prince's eighteenth birthday.

Eighteen. The same age as her, yet so different. Such divergent lives they lead.

At home, her mother came to greet her, walking slowly on weak, trembling legs.

"You should go rest. I'll take care of breakfast," Clarisse urged her mother gently. She was a frail woman; giving birth to Clarisse had almost killed her, and even if she had survived, it had cost her the health that had barely been there in the first place.

Clarisse's father was never there. In fact, she had never met him. According to her mother, he was a soldier, a mighty general, who has gone to the capital to serve the King and Queen.

Clarisse always scoffed at that. If her father really was so mighty, he would try to save her mother. Unless he was completely heartless, he would try to help, and he would come and visit, even if he was a busy man. Obviously, he had either abandoned them, or he was dead.

In Clarisse's opinion, there was no use dwelling on a near-nonexistent person, however much her mother still loved him.

Cracking two eggs into the pan, she quickly started a fire and began to cook, humming quietly. Judging by the mechanical clock hanging by the wall- a piece that had almost cost her three days worth of food- she had almost an hour before she has to get to the bar. When the eggs were done, she took out the bread and tiny slab of butter left in their kitchen and placed them onto the table.

Her mother was already sitting there, clutching her shawl close around her narrow shoulders. Her hand trembled as she picked up the cheap wooden fork and dull knife and began cutting her egg into smaller pieces. Clarisse cut the bread for her, spreading a little butter onto it. After placing it onto her mother's chipped plate, she dug in herself.

The tiny breakfast barely filled her, but the hunger had always been there. Sometimes she couldn't help but wonder what it felt like to be full, but the notion was so unrealistic that she would push it out of her mind quickly.

After breakfast, Clarisse hastily did the dishes, then hurried out with a quick goodbye to her mother and headed towards the bar.

The bar wasn't a bar during day; it was just a dingy little restaurant. Since Clarisse only worked the day shift, she had never had to endure the true chaos, though that didn't mean the place was all that nice during the day.

Whoever that had worked in the night shift must have been extremely lazy, because whenever she arrived, the ground was always slippery with beer, piss, and occasionally blood. The resulting smell was not pleasant, and Clarisse had to work extra hard to get rid of as much of the putrid smell as she could before the first customers trickle in.

The cook was a grumpy old man who- though with talent- was too lazy to make the food recognizable for what it was, or use real, edible meat in the first place, so Clarisse thought it was a mercy for the customers that they could not recognize it. She doubted it'd be a pretty sight.

The owner of the bar was a just-as-grumpy middle-aged man who almost never bothers with his business, only caring at the end of the day when the money comes rolling into his pocket. He was greedy and selfish, usually leaving Clarisse no more than a few silver coins, just enough to buy breakfast and dinner.

But despite all that, Clarisse didn't leave, even with the knowledge of several better inns or restaurants around the village. The bar had been the first place to give her the job she needed, and the fear of being unable to get another one was always hovering over her, preventing her from leaving.

When the sun began to sink towards the horizon, Clarisse's work would be almost done. The cleaning up was supposed to be part of the night shift's job, but obviously they've found a way to avoid that.

Despite the day of backbreaking work, Clarisse's footsteps as she headed back home were as brisk and hasty as ever.

Arriving home, she found her mother sitting on a stool, waiting for her, her eyes empty and dull. Clarisse helped her mother move to the dining table, then headed into the kitchen to cook dinner.

A simple dinner, just like everyday else. The usual bread, plus some vegetables and some cheese Clarisse had managed to get hold of. She cooked a small pot of tomato soup, just to brighten up the assortment of foods.

Dinner was silent, just like everyday else, interrupted only by her mother's raspy coughing every now and then.

When they were finished, Clarisse helped her mother to the small bedroom before doing the dishes. After that, it was the other chores: sweeping, dusting…

Night had completely fallen, and their small cottage was lit up by only one candle that casted dancing shadows onto the wooden walls.

Finally, with her back aching and her limbs sore, Clarisse hastily washed herself before falling onto her own bed outside her mother's bedroom and near the dining table. Through the crack between the thing curtains obscuring the windows, she could see a sliver of the silver half moon.

Search as she might, there were no stars; not a single one.

After all, their kingdom was known as the Dead Land, where nothing will grow on the rocky desert, and water was unwilling to traverse. Bordering one of the wealthiest, most abundant kingdoms, it was not wonder that the population of this kingdom was dropping so quickly.

Clarisse sighed and closed her eyes, shutting her eyes against the dim moonshine.

Far, far away, wild coyotes howled towards the black night sky.

The clock's second hand clicked with each passing second.

Then came the chimes from the pitiful clock tower that had been built in every village or town or city.

Twelve chimes.

Midnight.

Clarisse's eyes snapped open once more, and she sat up slowly.

Then, she smiled into the darkness, a grin nothing short of feral

Ruthlessness incarnate.


	3. Task and Gift

**Hi, everyone!**

 **I'd like to apologize for updating so late. I had a major writer's block that had been pestering me for quite a while now. The last chapter was so forced I could barely read it without wanting to cry, and this chapter isn't much better. Just keep in mind that this chapter wouldn't be that satisfactory. Also, thank you for everybody who reviewed, liked, and followed this story! They were very encouraging. Now, after all that, please enjoy! I'll try to get the next chapter as quickly as I could.**

 **II**

Each step was silent, softer than the sound of falling snow. Overhead, far from any civilization, an orange light glowed. The assassin knew, the client was there waiting. He had another job for the assassin.

Upon arriving, the pair said nothing. The assassin remained standing, senses sharp and alert.

Finally, the client spoke. "You have been quite successful in your last job. I am glad I chose you to aid me."

The cloaked figure beside him remained silent, simply holding out a hand.

The client sighed. "Always so impatient, the Desert's Hunter. Here's the promised payment. You must have been quite eager about it for the past two weeks." He dropped a bag of jingling coins into the waiting hand.

The assassin pried the pouch open, reaching in and pulling out the gold, then letting it fall through the gloved fingers. Satisfied, the assassin said in a soft and deadly voice, "You mentioned another job?"

"Yes," the client nodded. "A job that will pay even higher than the last."

"How much?"

A price was named.

There was no reaction, but the client knew the killer was tempted. It had been quite a high price. "Is it a deal?" he inquired.

"Who is my target?"

The orange lamp lit the client's smile. "I would like you to kill the Crown Prince."

"Insane." For the first time since he'd begun dealing with the assassin, the usual low murmur has risen in volume. "You would need to give me more than _that_ for the life of the Crown Prince!"

"It's either that or nothing."

Through the shadows of the hood, the client could see the assassin's jaw gritting.

"Don't worry, though," he added leisurely, "I have everything planned out. If you are willing to hear it, of course."

The assassin did not say anything, so he continued, "As you should know, the royal family is holding a ball in half a week's time in honor of the Crown Prince's eighteenth birthday. This is the perfect opportunity for you to gather information."

Then, he waited, only to be met by silence. "Well?"

Without saying anything, the assassin strode away.

The client smiled. The task was accepted.

 **λαβύρινθο** **του** **μυαλού**

"Oh my goodness! I can't believe this!" Clarisse's mother exclaimed. These were one of the days were her sickness seems to begin to recover and she was always much more energetic. "I heard of this ball but I didn't know it was for _all_ young maidens of the kingdom!"

"I was surprised too," Clarisse admitted. "I guess eighteen is very important."

"Oh, of course it is!" Her hands fluttering like little birds, Clarisse's mom began to flip through all their belongings in their house. "You have to dress nice for this. Such a big event! Eighteen! The Crown Prince is finally old enough for a betrothal. This is wonderful news, Clarisse! This kingdom could be saved!"

Clarisse rolled her eyes. "Mother, no empire would want this place. There are no crops, no nutrients in the soil, and barely any water. All we have here is rocks."

"Don't underestimate the power of rocks," the older woman pointed a finger at her. "It can do many things."

Clarisse rolled her eyes again, but prompted not to say anything.

"Let's see… what should you wear, Clarisse? You don't have enough dresses… Should we go in town and see what we could get for you there?"

Clarisse blinked as her mother's words registered. "Wait, Mother. I'm not going. I can't possibly leave you here alone. Not only that, we don't have the money to afford a new servant's dress, much less a dress fit for a ball at the castle."

"Nonsense." Her mother was already getting ready to leave the house. "Even if we don't have any money, taking a look won't hurt, would it?"

Perplexed, Clarisse followed her mother out the door and down the street.

 **λαβύρινθο** **του** **μυαλού**

The tailor was busy. It seems as if every single girl other than Clarisse had rushed to the shop to get a new dress the moment they heard the news. After arguing for almost an hour with the tailor, Clarisse's mother managed to convince the woman to make a dress for Clarisse: one of the simplest and cheapest and easiest to make. It's not something worthy of a ball, but it's the only thing the tailor was willing to make, and it was better than all the other dresses Clarisse owned.

In five days, there will be some people to pick all the young girls up, and they would be staying at the capital for two days and two nights. She was lucky, Clarisse knew. The only reason this was possible was because of the tiny, tiny population that occupied this vast wasteland. It seems like every few years, another town would be abandoned or would collapse. There really was no hope for this kingdom… unless the Crown Prince finds a princess from a rich enough country to support them another generation.

And despite being reluctant in going, as Clarisse climbed into bed that night, she couldn't help but wonder how the capital would be like, how the castle would look like, and how handsome the Prince was. And for once, she felt like a normal girl.

 **λαβύρινθο** **του** **μυαλού**

Three days later, Clarisse received her new dress.

It was a dark wine red, made of a smooth, flowing fabric much unlike the worn, scratchy cloth of her other dresses. Immediately, Clarisse knew that most of the money they paid was for this fabric, because other than that, it wasn't too special.

The dress had elegant, long sleeves, and the skirt flowed out beneath her, brushing the ground, so Clarisse's thin brown slippers that she's planning to wear to the ball was relatively well-hidden. It hugged her waist and hips much too tightly for her liking, but she was going to complain; not when her mother looked so happy as she fussed over her.

Two more days, Clarisse told herself. Then it's the ball. And then two days, just another two days, before she's back in this little village. Two days living in a castle like she's a princess. Two days and two nights. There will be food, and drinks, and luxury, and so much more. Of course, there was also the Prince. Two nights…

Clarisse felt almost sick. Excusing herself quickly, Clarisse left her mother's room, settling onto her bed with a hand over her thumping chest. The dress flowed smoothly with her every movement. Under the shadows, the dark red of the dress looked like blood. Blood seeping into her skin, drowning her, taunting her…

She had never been in such a hurry to change.


	4. Illuminated Darkness

**III**

A long line of carriages clattered down the stone roads towards the castle.

Clarisse sat in one of the carriages, restless, nervous, and uncomfortable in her dress. Next and opposite of her sat several other girls from her village, but none of them spoke, none of them acknowledged any other person in any way, for they were all too busy staring out the large windows on the sides of the carriage.

Clarisse also stared, eyes wide and jaws hanging. 'Don't underestimate the power of rocks; it can do many things,' her mother had said to her, and she couldn't help but realize how true those words were.

The castle was made completely of stones. It loomed over all the buildings, a gray structure with towers clawing its way towards the heavens. It was truly a work of art, especially since it was rumored that each tower was carved from a single chunk of stone, then placed together to form the majestic castle. Its arches were a window to another world, its towers were an army of guardian pillars, and its designs, its intricateness, were one of the few things Clarisse found ironic.

The country is on the brink of poverty and the empire closing in on its downfall, and the government lives _here_ , a place that only flaunts wealth and skill. How they found time and resources and people to do all that for them must be a miracle- and torture for those people who worked on this palace. Just how many people died working on this large, pretty house?

But despite her negative musings, she couldn't help but feel impressed. It was beautiful, she had to admit, and living in luxury in such a place would make wearing this horrible dress worth it.

The 'train' continued into the palace courtyard, and carriage by carriage, visitors from all around the empire unloaded into the palace.

Clarisse was one of the last people to leave a carriage, but when she arrived in the great hall, it was still only two-thirds full. _The population of this empire is really plummeting_ , she thought. _It's a miracle we haven't been invaded yet. Our army would be too weak to do anything._ But then again, who would want this stretch of wasteland?

The inside of the palace was even more majestic than the exterior. Carvings decorated every surface, excluding the floor, which was some kind of smooth marble. Chandeliers dangled from above, illuminating the cavern with warm light. Large windows opened on every wall, not blocking out any light from the outside. Wide flights of stairs lead to who-knows-where, and Clarisse could only imagine how the two days would be spent here.

In the crowd, there were many village girls like Clarisse, but she also spotted several nobilities standing proudly in their layered skirts and frilly fans. There were also a few royals from neighboring empires: there was a tan-skinned girl resting in the arms of a tall blonde boy. They stood near the dais, looking around the palace with an interested expression. The King and Queen of the most successful empire in the region, here in the poorest nation to congratulate the 18th birthday of the Prince.

The cavern had been filled with voices and noise, but all conversations died down the moment the King and Queen entered, stepping gracefully onto the raised platform. The Prince was still unseen.

The first thing the rulers did was greet their fellow royals, leading them onto the dais and introducing them to the crowd. After thanking them for coming, their king and queen thanked everyone in the crowd for coming. After a quick announcement about their schedule- which was disturbingly undeveloped, to Clarisse's great disappointment- the Prince entered the room.

The crowd began to cheer, and several tall men cut in front of Clarisse, obscuring her view of the dais. After dodging in front of them again, careful not to trip on her dress, Clarisse saw the Crown Prince for the first time.

He was mildly handsome, with neat black hair and chocolate brown eyes. He moved with a grace and sureness in his steps that Clarisse knew only nobles and royals can achieve.

The Prince first bowed to the audience, then welcomed and thanked his guests for coming, basically repeating the speech his parents had made. His voice was powerful and clear and confident, and somehow seeing him made Clarisse feel better about this collapsing empire of stone.

Afterwards, the crowd was led to a massive room filled with soft chairs and tables laden with food. The sight itself was enough to make Clarisse's mouth start watering, not to mention the heavenly smell.

Everyone settled down, not bothering much about specific sitting arrangements, and they dug in.

It was the best thing Clarisse had ever tasted. The chicken was roasted just right, so that the skin was crispy while the meat inside was soft. The greens were decorated with sauces she had never tasted before, and it was boiled so that the leaves shredded with no effort. The soup simmered delicately, and was light and soft to settle the overwhelming tastes of luxury. During dessert, for the first time ever, Clarisse got a taste of chocolate. The cake was soft and springy, literally melting in her mouth. It took all her self-control not to start stuffing everything into her mouth and eating like a pig.

That night, for the first time ever, Clarisse went to bed with a full stomach, the hunger pangs finally relieved. And the next morning, for the first time ever, Clarisse woke up on the soft, feathery cushions feeling refreshed, not stiff and aching from her small wooden bed that already seemed so far away.

 **λαβύρινθο** **του** **μυαλού**

She spent most of the daytime exploring. The castle seemed even bigger on the inside than on the outside. Clarisse had gotten lost two times already, and by the third time, she was getting annoyed and was wondering if she should just retreat back to her room. If she could even find it, that was.

As she hurried down a random hallway, she glanced out of the stone-rimmed windows at the desolate scene outside. Wispy trees stood shivering between rocks, bending beneath the breeze, threatening to snap. Their leaves were an unhealthy yellow, and it looked as lifeless as the desert of rocks that was their kingdom.

How could anyone live here? Clarisse wondered. How did they even survive?

Distracted by her own thoughts, Clarisse noticed nothing of her surroundings until she suddenly slammed into something hard.

"Oof!" she gasped, losing her footing and falling onto the stone floors.

"I'm so sorry," a voice said, slightly breathless. "Are you okay?"

Clarisse blinked. It was a man's voice, and it was very familiar. She looked up, and almost screamed.

It was the Prince.

Her mind blanked except for the thought that she had just ram-headed straight into the Prince and now she's completely immobilized. When that thought fully registered, her mind began swearing up a storm, for it was a little too overwhelming to actually focus on.

Why, oh why, does it have to be the Crown Prince?

Somebody coughed, snapping Clarisse out of her daze.

"Um… do you need help?" the somebody was the prince, and he held out a tentative hand. Clarisse scooted away slightly and stood up herself, brushing out the wine-colored dress quickly.

"I'm fine, thank you," she blurted out, then asked breathlessly, "Do you know where the guest rooms are?"

"Oh, so you're one of the guests," the Prince realized. "At first I thought you were a servant dressing up."

Clarisse felt her face flush. _Don't get mad. He's the Prince. Do NOT punch him in the face._

"Erm… very sorry to bother you," she muttered, turned stiffly, never meeting the Prince's gaze, and hurried off.

"Wait!" the Prince called after her, "If you're searching for the rooms, they're the opposite way!"

Groaning under her breath, Clarisse spun and hurried towards the other direction.

Well that's certainly one thing Clarisse would never tell her mother.

 **λαβύρινθο** **του** **μυαλού**

That night was a ball before the guests will leave in the morning.

Clarisse's exploration had gone well afterwards, and she had the basics of the castle interior memorized, including the locations of the ballroom, guest rooms, kitchen, and the royal wing, which was guarded well and banned from entering.

She arrived at the ball slightly later than the group, but it was still early in the night. Delicate music flowed through the room in a lively, comforting melody. People twirled on the dance floor, clothes billowing. The lights were dim and romantic, and people spoke in hushed voices, as if afraid to break the quivering silence.

As Clarisse made her way through the crowd towards the snack table, she recognized several familiar faces. There were a few girls from the same village as her, and a number of well-known nobles. Once, she caught a glimpse of the King and Queen of the neighboring empire, dancing gracefully through the room. She even saw _their_ King and Queen.

But the Prince was nowhere to be seen.

She was relieved, in a way, and downed a cup of… something she had never tasted before, though that seems to be a common occurrence in this castle. It was sweet and slightly minty, with a wild tilt of something addicting. And it tasted heavenly.

Clarisse took another cup, this time taking more time sipping it, feeling the alcohol burn the back of her throat and make her eyes water. Even so, she continued to drink, several waiters coming to fill her cup again after she was finished.

She drank unconsciously, and several more cups after, Clarisse felt her head begin to spin. There was a giddy feeling in her stomach, and she couldn't stop the strange smile creeping up her face. The drink was so nice. It felt like she was floating, soaring, away from her problems and worries and-

"Having fun?" a familiar voice asked beside her.

Clarisse squinted through the dim light towards the source of the voice at a familiar face. Especially those eyes, the slightly tilted, exotic brown eyes. What were they doing here?

Right, somebody asked a question.

Clarisse thought hard, but couldn't really remember the question, so she answered with a "Huh?"

"I asked if you were having fun," the Crown Prince repeated. Surely the girl remembered him. But after a bit of squinting, he realized that she was on the border of being drunk.

"Huh?" Clarisse repeated.

"No, never mind." He sighed. _How do you talk to a drunk person?_ He wondered.

 _Should you even talk to them?_

 _No,_ the Prince decided. Definitely not smart to talk to a drunk. His parents would disapprove greatly.

And so with that piece of encouragement, he opened his mouth and asked, "What is your name?"

"My name?" Clarisse cocked her head to one side. "What's your name?"

"My name is Chris."

"Chris," she began to giggle. "That's a strange name. My name is Clarisse."

Chris decided to ignore the 'strange name' comment. "Clarisse," he repeated, tasting it on the tip of his tongue.

"Yeah," Clarisse grinned, then wrinkled her nose as she squinted at him once more. "Who are you?"

"Um… I'm Chris."

"Yeah, I know. But who are you?"

"Er… like… am I a noble or something?" Chris was beginning to regret starting the conversation.

Clarisse nodded, swaying slightly at the movement. The cup in her hand tilted dangerously, and Chris took it from her before answering, "I'm the Crown Prince."

The village girl began to giggle again. "You're the Crown Prince?"

"Yes."

"That's funny," she said between bouts of quiet laughter, "and your name is Chris?"

Chris had a bad feeling of where this was going. "Yes…?"

"So you're called Crown Prince Chris?" Clarisse was near hysterical, but her voice somehow managed to stay below the hushed chatter of the crowd.

"Please don't bring that up," Chris groaned. "It's one of the few things I hate about my name."

"Huh." Clarisse was still grinning, but no longer laughing. Then, she hiccupped and said, "I'm full."

Chris stayed silent, still contemplating whether or not he should just leave the conversation.

Before he could make up his mind, however, Clarisse plucked her cup of alcohol from Chris's hand, downed the rest of the liquid, settled the cup on the snack table, and took his hand.

"Let's dance," she whispered, standing on tiptoes to let her words feather past his ear.

"Huh?"

And then, the Crown Prince was dragged onto the dance floor by a drunk village girl.

It was then that for the first time ever, Chris saw Clarisse fully. The first time they met, Clarisse wouldn't look directly at him, opting to let her hair cover her face, or turn away from him. Then later, in the dim light, her features were too vague.

But now, on the illuminated dance floor, Chris saw her strong brows, her straight nose. Her wine-colored dress hugged her body tightly, and he could see the lean muscles under the thin fabric. Her mouth was slightly agape, releasing small pants as she struggled to keep her balance through the haze of alcohol. Her expression was of bliss in the high, and her lips tilted into a dreamy smile as she twirled. While at first, she had seemed awkward and clumsy, now, in the climax of a waltz, her movements were graceful and smooth and polished. She was not the most beautiful girl he had seen before; in fact, she was quite plain. But she intrigued him in a way he couldn't explain. Maybe it was the red glint in her hard brown eyes, or the thin scars on her hands, but there was just something strange about this girl that Chris couldn't wrap his head around.

The girl took several light steps back, dragging Chris with her in her irregular dance, then twirled once more, tilting her face into the light, basking in imaginary attention. Lucky for the both of them, somehow no one seemed to notice that the Crown Prince was dancing with a random villager, and so they did not stop. They continued to spin until both of them were panting and dizzy from the performance.

And then, Clarisse stumbled off into the darkness once more, released Chris's hand, and disappeared in the crowd.

He didn't see her again through the rest of the night, and seeing as the guests were leaving tomorrow morning, he might never see her again.

And somehow, there was a strong regret eating him up inside as he waved the carriages goodbye that he had never been able to unveil the mystery that was Clarisse La Rue.

 **λαβύρινθο** **του** **μυαλού**

The shadows writhed. Hidden in their darkness was the assassin, perched on the stone railing of a balcony.

The balcony of a room in the stone castle of a disintegrating empire.

It was two days since the ball had ended. The guests had returned to their respectable homes, and it was time to strike.

The assassin slinked into the room, squeezing through impossible cracks, all the while staying in the safety of the shadows casted by the absence of the sun.

The sun the Prince will never see again.

If you searched closely enough, you'd find a wicked grin appearing in the darkness, filled with cruelty and ruthlessness and death.

Knives grated silently against their sheaths as they were released.

On the bed laid the Prince, his face peaceful, illuminated by the moonlight.

And he was so, so vulnerable.

The smile grew ecstatic at the climax of the hunt. The Assassin raised the polished, glinting knives high into the air, and then with a moment of suspension, plunged it down, down, down towards the Prince's heart.

 **Please Review!**


	5. Wild Darkness

**IV**

That night, the dreams were different, strangely enough.

He was in a room, but it wasn't the same room as all the other nights before. This time, instead of the chamber with the blood splattered walls and the permanent screams ringing through the air, he was in the ballroom.

There was no one else other than him. He groped around his neck, but the necklace wasn't there. He couldn't find the vial.

For once, he was free, though he wonders how long that was going to last.

His heart bloomed with relief and joy, and he looked up through the large ballroom windows to the pregnant moon, and smiled, not with feral hatred, but of pure joy.

Then suddenly, a shadow flitted across the moon, its silhouette graceful and smooth, like a performer on the dance floor. He watched, mesmerized, as the shadow leapt from one pillar to another with impossible elegance.

Without realizing it, he began wandering closer and closer towards the windows to see the acrobat better, maybe even make out a face.

Concentrating slightly, he realized that there was something glinting in the silhouette's hands. Knives? Weapons? Somehow, it didn't alarm him.

And then, the shadow was in front of him, and it was true, those were knives, wicked, sharp, glinting in the moonlight.

The shadow was nothing but a writhing mass of darkness and wrath, and its mouth split open into a pale, cruel smile shaped as the crescent moon.

The assassin leapt up over him, knives pointing down, and plunged.

And then, his eyes snapped open, and he rolled.

 **λαβύρινθο** **του** **μυαλού**

The knife stabbed into the mattress centimeters from his arm. Chris gasped, struggled out his blankets, and rolled off the bed onto the carpeted ground. The assassin pulled out the knives, releasing feathers. Like an acrobat, the assailant leapt over the bed and towards him, weapons poised, but Chris ran around the bed, to the other side.

The moon shone bright, illuminating the stone castle with a light silver glow.

And that was when he felt it.

It started off as a small ache in his joints, but the pain grew and worsened until the agony was eating him alive. There was nothing in his mind was blackness, writhing, cruel darkness.

He faced the assassin, and like a wild beast, snarled.

 **λαβύρινθο** **του** **μυαλού**

He attacked like a wild, feral dog, and caught off guard, the assassin could only back up and try to avoid his ripping, his howling, his angry screams. Sometimes he swung towards the darkness, but the knives were never raised to hurt him. Other times he tore at himself, ripping at his hair, his clothes, tearing at his skin. The noises he made could only be described as inhuman.

He was insane.

The noise echoed through the chamber, and the sound of people shouting and hurrying towards the chamber reached the sharp ears of the assassin.

Without another word, Clarisse gnashed her teeth together in frustration and escaped from the window.

Seconds later, the door burst open, and guards rushed in to restrain the Crown Prince whose mind had been eaten by darkness.

 **λαβύρινθο** **του** **μυαλού**

Clarisse's hands shook as she poured the water into the cup and handed it to her mother, who gulped it down desperately. Then, her coughing continued to rack her frail body, and the empty cup fell from her weak hands onto her lap. The noises she made could barely be considered coughing. It was more like a wild rasping sound that tore at her mother's throat and clawed its way out.

"Clarisse…" the older woman gasped, reaching for her daughter.

Clarisse grasped her hand tightly. "It's going to be okay, Mother," she said in a soothing voice, "I've already called a doctor. He'll be here in a day or two. Please, please hold on until then."

Her mother shook her head slightly, the coughing finally subsiding slightly. "Money…" she rasped.

"It's okay. I'll find a way to pay him," Clarisse promised. "Don't worry, Mother. I'll handle it. I've got everything handled."

Tears streaked her mother's gaunt face and she allowed a small smile. "You've grown so much, Clarisse." Her voice was haggard and broken. "I don't know what I'll ever be able to do without you."

"Shush, Mother." Clarisse ignored the sorrow that filled her heart. "Just rest. You'll get better soon. Don't worry."

As if those words were a switch, those blank, weary orbs blinked shut, and smooth but shallow breathing took over her mother's body.

With a small sigh, Clarisse stood up, smoothing out her dress. Right at that moment, there was knocking on the door.

The doctor? Possibly, though it was strange how quickly he arrived. But either way…

She opened the door, but it wasn't the doctor.

It was a messenger.

"You are Ms. Clarisse La Rue, am I correct?" the young man asked. Clarisse confirmed this and he continued, "Well, the doctor has sent a quick message stating that he will be unable to come to this village to help with your little problem. He, obviously, has more important things on his plate. Thank you. That is all."

And not giving Clarisse a chance to speak, the messenger stalked off and away, whistling a quiet tune.

Well, two more people to add to her list of Have-to-Kill's.

But it didn't matter, not right now, Clarisse realized as she slowly closed the door. If she couldn't get the doctor to come, she'll go buy the medicine herself. But money. She needed money.

There was a gaping hole in Clarisse's chest as she remembered the latest assignment.

Tonight, she will kill- she has to kill the Crown Prince.

 **λαβύρινθο** **του** **μυαλού**

It was the same moon, the same darkness, the same path.

But everything was different.

There was something stiffer in her movements, more pressurized, more desperate.

It was no longer a game, but a gamble. After last night, if the half-crazy prince told the others about her, there will be higher security. But if she didn't kill the prince, her mother…

Clarisse couldn't bear the thought.

So she continued swinging past security lines and towards the Prince's chamber.

True to her suspicions, there were guards situated on the Prince's balcony and basically all around his room.

But it's okay. They were just guards.

So Clarisse swung down from her perch on the ledge above them, and with one smooth movement, spilt their throat onto the wooden ground.

She winced at the found of the corpses hitting the ground, but when no other unnatural sounds reached her ears, she eased into the bedroom.

It was luck that saved her really, and maybe a little bit of skill.

But apparently, there were guards inside the room as well, and they were obviously more experienced than the two guards she had slain, because they had remained silent and unmoved as their comrades were slaughtered. That's why she hadn't noticed them.

But the glint of weapons had warned her, and she stepped back just before two swords could impale her.

The two guards emerged from their hiding place, advancing towards her. Without hesitation, she attacked, weapons twirling, but they didn't relent. The elite team? She wondered. Possibly. They were skilled enough for sure.

Desperation drove her forward, despite her mind screaming at her to just retreat for tonight and her senses telling her that something was horribly, horribly wrong.

There was a thud behind her, and Clarisse turned slightly to catch a glimpse of a third guard.

And then, the newcomer slammed the hilt of his sword into her head, and darkness took over.

 **Thank you all for the reviews! Wish you enjoyed the chapter!**


	6. Burning Sins

**V**

Groaning, Clarisse forced her eyes open, only to be met by darkness. She wasn't fazed, and allowed her other senses to slowly recover before trying to identify her position.

Her mouth was parched, her lips chapped; her head throbbed horribly, and there was something sticky on the back of her neck, very possibly blood; her fingers were numb, her wrists chafed from the rough ropes that held them behind her back, and she was blindfolded. Her whole body was stiff and aching, and after subtly shifting around for some time, she could tell that all her weapons had been taken away, even the ones she hid beneath her clothes.

Then, she stopped all movement, steadied her breaths, and concentrated on what she could hear: a rhythmic drip-drop of water, the echo of faraway footsteps; groans, moans, clinks of metal against rock. Somebody coughed, and the sound was very near her. She was in the dungeons, and there were at least two guards right outside her cell. The room next to her was empty, but on her left, there was a steady but shallow sound of breathing and an occasional shift.

Clarisse sighed, the small sound echoing in the stone trap.

She heard the clinking of keys. She felt the door of her cell creak open, the metal grinding against the rough stone floor. She sensed someone nearing her, and a hand reaching for her head.

The blindfold was ripped off, and Clarisse's eyes adjusted quickly. A guard leered at her, and when he saw her gaze clear, he grinned. "Yup, finally up, assassin. Just in time too. Tomorrow is your trial, just a quick warning." Then chuckling slightly, he sauntered out again, locking the door behind him.

Clarisse failed to see what was so funny, but she smiled anyway. Maybe it was the realization that the cells were old and rusted, or that her fingers could easily reach the knot of the rope binding her wrists; also maybe because after the guard came to make his little announcement, the other soldier had left with him, leaving her cell unguarded. A shift, most likely. Now all she needed to know was when the next guards would be arriving.

They appeared ten minutes later.

Clarisse had worked quickly in those ten minutes, her fingers feeling and exploring the knot before slowly loosening it.

She observed her surroundings with closer detail as she worked, and couldn't help but notice the prisoner in the cell on her left.

It was a young boy who seemed about her age. He was scrawny and starved, covered in mud and some other dark substance that looked suspiciously like blood. His hair was a mass of tangled curls; his wrists were chained to the wall and he sat there, barely breathing, never moving, just staring into blank space.

He looked so lifeless that Clarisse couldn't help but call out, "Hey."

The boy's breath hitched, then he slowly relaxed. He turned his head slightly to face her, his bones seeming to creak. When he looked at her, Clarisse felt a chill run up her spine.

She knew that look; she had seen those glassy, unseeing orbs more times than she could count. Those were the eyes of someone who was long dead.

However, in this boy's case, it's not as physical.

His body still functioned, but his soul had perished. He had been hollowed out, sucked away, stripped of everything until he had nothing- literally nothing left. Clarisse had never seen a person so perfectly, obviously alive, yet so lifeless, so empty.

For a long time, all Clarisse could do was stare. Then, she regained her composure and cleared her throat slightly before asking, "How long were you down here?"

The boy didn't answer. He turned his head back to face forward, and then, his shoulders gave a small shrug.

He didn't know.

He was so at loss, so tortured, that he didn't know.

"Do you know when the guards are coming back?"

Another shrug.

"Where are you from?"

This time, the boy didn't shrug. His head rotated once more to face her, and then he opened his mouth.

His voice was as dead and lifeless as his expression, but he spoke nonetheless. "I come from the neighbouring country, where the people and land prospered. But the guards chased me and K-," he froze at that and swallowed before continuing, "They chased me here, to the edge of the forest, where it was already in this barren wasteland. They took me here."

"I see," Clarisse replied quietly. His dead voice dissuaded her from asking anymore questions, and the boy returned to staring at nothing.

"Nice chit-chat?" The guards had arrived, and heard the last bit of their conversation. Clarisse's hands were already loose, but she pretended that she was still tied up, keeping the rope around her wrist, and feigned exhaustion, slumping against the wall, and seeming to relax.

"Just a quick fun fact," the new guard said, jerking a finger at Clarisse's neighbour, "His execution is next week. If your trial goes well, maybe you could join him." Then, he chuckled.

Once again, Clarisse failed to see the laughing point, but she smiled anyway. Maybe it was the idea of the trial _not_ going well…

The smile grew wider.

Sounds like fun.

 **λαβύρινθο** **του** **μυαλού**

Clarisse spent the rest of the time plotting, thinking, imagining, wondering, while her neighbour continued to stay unmoving, seemingly lifeless.

By the time the guards came to retrieve her for the trial, she was utterly crept out by him and was glad to be away from him for some time. And if things go well, she wouldn't be coming back here at all.

Clarisse allowed the guards to lead her up from the dungeons, where she was blinded by the mid-noon sun. The windows were wide and gaping; they were on the first floor. She wondered how many guards were near hearing range of them.

Clarisse smiled; she didn't care. Not when the guards' faces were so priceless as she ripped open her bonds, and rammed her elbow into the gut of one soldier. She slammed the balls of her other palm onto the other guards nose, and felt a satisfying crunch of bone and cartilage. The guards shouted and reached for their swords… which weren't there.

On the other hand, Clarisse gave the two swords one quick swipe, and the heads rolled.

Footsteps echoed from far away, drawn by the noise, but that was no bother to her. She abandoned one sword, keeping the other, and escaped from a window.

Several dead bodies and miniature fights later, Clarisse arrived at the rock desert. The road was near, and she followed it, keeping out of sight just in case, heading towards her hometown. Her footsteps were quick and light, with a hint of impatient desperation. Her mother must be so worried. What could she tell her?

The sun beat down on her mercilessly, and Clarisse had to abandon one layer of her clothes so to not faint from the heat. Her knees felt wobbly, her legs were weak; the grip she had on the sword were loose and slick with sweat, sweat that slid down her neck and soaked her clothes…

It was nearing dusk by the time she saw the first town. Just another three hours of walking down the road would be hers…

The temperature began to cool, much to her relief. The sky was beginning to darken as well, so hiding the bloodstains on her wouldn't be so difficult anymore. She had had to hide several times to avoid passers, and it grated on her nerves that she had to waste precious time waiting for those slow-travelers to get out of seeing-range.

After stopping once to rest and attempt to ignore her thirst and hunger, Clarisse finally caught a glimpse of smoke rising in the distance.

A village.

 _Her_ village.

Her footsteps quickened once more. It's been almost a whole day since she had left. News can travel faster than her, and there were more than one road leading to different towns. But it had only been several hours, it might still be safe.

Clarisse wasn't going to take any chances. She stayed at the outskirts of the village, skirting behind the houses and cottages. The sky has a thick dark blue now: she could sneak in easily.

She remained in the shadows as she headed towards her home. There weren't a lot of people on the streets now, and those who passed her didn't even spare her a glance.

Clarisse slowly relaxed.

She was so, so tired. All she wanted to do now was collapse onto her hard, narrow bed, and sleep for two days. Her vision was becoming fuzzy, the edges mixing into the darkness around her.

The dim light of lanterns and candles filtered through the curtains, the dancing orange light were just like the fire that casted them. Embers danced, the fire grew, ashes were scattered over the sky, covering it in black, suffocating black…

Clarisse stumbled over a wooden beam. Glancing back, she realized that the pole was charred and black, burnt to coal. Near it, a few embers glowed beneath a layer of ash and ruin.

Slowly, her eyes adjusted again. Her mind was forcing them to clear, demanding answers. What was this? Fire, obviously, but no one had seemed alarmed by it. No one was trying to fix it…

Her eyes adjusted, and then she realized that of course no one would be alarmed. Of course no one would try to help.

News travel faster than her, and it had spread like wildfire around the realm. Fire, that enveloped her home.

Clarisse dropped to her knees. Her hands moved jerkily, hesitantly, but she began to dig, faster and faster, until she found it.

Now the whole country knew, Clarisse la Rue was an assassin, who attempted to kill the Prince.

And for the price of her sins, her mother had burned.

 **Sorry if this chapter wasn't very well written. I've got a minor writer's block, and it's killing me. Please review, though. Reviews always help.**


	7. Swirling Colours

**VI**

Even after the last ember had died down, there was something burning deep in Clarisse's heart. There was an unspeakable rage inside her, a monster stirring, cracking open an eye, and roaring in discomfort. There were no thoughts in her mind other than the sounds of the beast's growling, snarling, and roaring.

Her hands trembled violently: not from fear, not from horror, but from strain from the suppression of uncontrolled power.

Clarisse forced herself to move slowly, tried to block out the sounds of her own blood rushing past her senses to feed the monster within.

The sides of her vision were tinged with black, and the rest were dyed red. She felt dizzy, and she felt strong, like she could take on an entire army and not gain a single scratch.

She was completely submerged in the drowning sea of insanity. It wasn't a new feeling, but this time, she no longer struggled. She let the black waters wash over her head, feeling their smooth fingers free her of those binding self-morals.

And then she felt power, she felt free. She could run faster than the wind, and she could fly. And there was strength so concentrated that she felt like she could slice through rock with a blunt knife.

And she smiled, a cold, cruel thing, filled with horrific pleasures and merciless thoughts.

And that was what she was: Ruthlessness Incarnate.

 **λαβύρινθο** **του** **μυαλού**

It was truly surprising. There were no moon that night, and the kingdom was washed in darkness. Guards paced in every corner, even more wary now that the assassin had escaped from her prison.

But the lamps situated in the hallways offered little light for the rest of the world, and Clarisse took advantage of the dark and extra noise to enter the castle for a fourth time that month. Her steps synchronized with the steady march of elite guards, her breathing evened, her mind blanked. Two soldiers passed her with not so much a glance at her direction.

There was a confidence in her movements that hadn't truly been there before. She moved like the shadows, silent and swift, unfaltering. She swung from the smallest crooks and footholds to reach the third floor balcony that she had grown well accustomed to. The several guards were not given a chance to make a single sound before they slumped down over the railing with the barest of shuffling, unconscious.

The entire castle was dead silent.

The balcony doors were locked, the curtains were tightly drawn; but Clarisse had simply to draw her thinnest knife, and with several careful maneuvers and twists, the door swung open silently.

The curtains were made of soft, expensive silk, and Clarisse wanted to do nothing more than to rip them off their hangers and tear them to pieces, stain them and burn them the way the nobles seem to burn their money, leaving none for the suffering villagers.

She could do that after, Clarisse decided: after she had killed the Crown Prince, after she had her money. Then she would slay every single greedy high-ranking official in the kingdom and take all their money too.

With that wonderful thought in mind, Clarisse strode forward, her boots silent against the cold stone floor. Her polished knives made no sound as they were freed from their sheaths, and for a moment, she simply marveled at the way the metal reflected the light. Or lack thereof, that is.

The Prince lay on his bed, asleep, his expression relaxed and serene.

Clarisse could see a kind of childish look in his sleeping form, the way he was curled up, tangled in his blankets, and the way his hands fisted the sheets and pulled them to his face. Just one blow, and that was it. She could finish him off so easily, and then money, gold, and she could buy anything she want-

The adrenaline faded abruptly, and Clarisse's raised weapon went slack.

There was no longer a point to make money. Her mother was dead: she didn't need to spend a single piece of silver on medicine or doctor fees. She was wanted: there were no more places for her to stay; she wouldn't need to spend money on rent, or taxes, or any of the type.

In a way, Clarisse was the freest person in the world.

So why does she have to kill the Crown Prince?

It was question that hadn't occurred to her, and she blinked, lowering her arm.

Now that she had nothing, why _would_ she kill the prince?

And she remembered that time when she met him in the castle halls, when he had seemed so kind and charming, not at all like the stuck-up royal she had expected him to be. There was something nagging her on the back of her mind, a vague memory of music, and of twirling, and of the feeling like she could fly: truly and actually fly; and there were laughter, there was wanting, and gentle smiles, beautiful eyes, so many things that she hadn't remembered- haven't tried to remember, haven't bothered.

Why should she kill the prince, the only one that had shown true kindness to her other than her mother?

Clarisse stared down at the peacefully sleeping face, noticing the slight tilt of lips, the twitch of eyelids as her victim lived in a dream, like the one she had before awakening that last morning in the castle. The dream of another time and place, another person away.

Her eyes swept across the room: the fluttering silk curtains, the open windows; the moonless sky, littered with tiny blinking stars that poked holes in the eternal darkness of night.

She could kill the prince… simply to prove to herself that she _can_. That such thing as kindness would not matter to her. That she was strong, unyielding. And she was curious.

How will killing the last person she cared about in this world affect her?

She felt her thoughts swirl, shifting in and out of focus. She felt like she had drank too many cups of wine again. She felt like she could fly, she felt earthbound; she felt calm, she felt exhilarated. Her vision blurred, the darkness merged into one roaring monster that paced around the room but kept distance from her.

And there- so close to her, just a reach away, was a group of swirling colours. It was lined with gold, shaped like a cylinder, and a soft hand clutched it, hugging the pendant to his chest. His shoulders shook, his body jerked.

The clock struck midnight, and with each bright chime, Clarisse felt her eyes adjust a little, until she was staring at gold, at opportunity, of herbs and medicine and magic that could bring her mother back from the dead.

Her fingers twitched, and she reached tentatively, eyes still fixed on the swirling substance inside the shimmering crystal cylinder topped with silver and gold, the long, delicate chain wrapped loosely around the prince's neck.

The longer she stared, the harder it was to resist it, and finally, she relaxed, and closed her hand around the Crown's Prince's hand, feeling the warmth of the pendant.

Then there was blood, there was pain, there was screams.

And there was darkness.

 **Apologies for the unproductive chapter. It really is just a filler chapter, with a bunch of unnecessary repeats. It leads to a bigger event though, so it's still pretty important. See you next chapter!**


	8. Waking Dreams

**Thank you for the reviews! Here's the next chapter; wish you enjoy it!**

 **VII**

There was a room. A dark room with white walls messily painted with some dark red substance.

It took her a moment to realize that it was blood.

The same blood had flooded the room, and every step she took resulted in a small splash as her boots disturbed the surface of the thick liquid.

There was no source of light that she could identify, but it was still bright enough for her to realize that it was a vast chamber, the opposite walls reaching far, far away.

Where was she?

Clarisse racked her mind. How did she get here? What was she doing?

There was something to do with a Prince, she thought, and jewelry, money; pretty things that only young girls would still be attracted to.

She took another step forward, the blood rippling around her, and then her ears picked up a faint sound.

It seemed to be breathing: shallow, uneven, weak.

There was somebody else in the room.

But it was too dim, she couldn't make out other figures. Her hand was a shadow merging into darkness when she held it as far from her face as she could. She could see… one meter, at the very most.

It was a strange feeling, being near blind, and it was unpleasant too.

The air smelled metallic and salty, but there was also a hint of something rotting and raw, like flesh, carrion.

Then, suddenly, lights flashed on from every angle, blinding her temporarily. It took her eyes a long time to adjust, and she didn't like what she saw.

She didn't like it one bit.

But her jaws were clenched tight, her muscles frozen, immobile in every way; her knees shook, but she could not will herself to move.

Before her was the most horrid, twisted creature she had ever seen.

It used to be human, that much she could see. But somebody had carved his face into something unrecognizable, completely beyond repair. Blood leaked from his thinly clad body, his skin marred by numerous cuts and bruises.

Was he dead? Clarisse wondered. Such a pitiful thing: if it wasn't already, she should end it.

Then, the creature stirred, and Clarisse's hand shot to her waist, where hidden knives were strapped reassuringly to her sides. If he tried anything… Clarisse froze.

Because despite the empty eye sockets, despite the toothless mouth and broken nose and uneven cuts of flesh, she knew it was him. But it couldn't be, because they had talked, they had laughed, they had danced _together_ , and he had been near _perfect_. So this thing couldn't be him, no matter what her eyes told her, because…

Because it wasn't him.

This was not Chris.

This was his _mind_. This was his fraying nerves, his unraveling sanity.

As if sensing her realization, the room suddenly jerked, and dust began to fall from the ceiling as her surroundings shook, dying Chris's blood-clotted hair white. The wall behind Clarisse tore open like a pair of rusty doors and dark hands groped towards her, grabbing her arms, her legs, her waist, her neck, in an unforgiving grip. They began to retreat, dragging her with them towards the darkness behind her.

And finally, Clarisse pried open her mouth, and one word tore out in a wild, strangled scream.

"CHRIS!"

The walls slammed shut, melding itself till not a single ray of light shone through a crack.

And there was only darkness.

 **λαβύρινθο** **του** **μυαλού**

The last time he had a peaceful night was eight years ago. After that, every time he closed his eyes and mind, nightmares manifested his dreams, devouring them until all that was left was blood and pain and echoing screams.

But tonight, something was different. Around him, there was only darkness, and a peaceful, content silence. He had settled back with a comfortable sigh, wondering when the torture would start.

It never did.

When he opened his eyes again, the sun was shining, the birds were chirping, and there was a servant pounding on his door.

"Your Majesty, it is time to wake!"

Something wasn't right. There was definitely something missing. He didn't answer the servant, despite the constant knocking. He didn't feel weary or tired, his joints weren't aching from the mental struggle, his vision was clear and bright. He was warm, relaxed, and he felt safer and more secure than he had ever been.

Then, he tried to flip over, and realized that he couldn't. Something was gripping his hand very tightly, twisting his wrist in a slightly awkward way.

Blinking, Chris sat up, and the sight made him jolt in surprise and shock.

There was a _girl_ gripping his hand like it was her lifeline. It was quite a familiar girl as well. He recognised the high cheekbones and strong features. He knew the colour of the loose strands of hair that fell into her sleeping face, the rest of the brown hair tucked inside the shawl she had wrapped her head tightly in. He remembered the rough, scarred hands of Clarisse la Rue before, and he had held it tenderly, and that was what made him even more shocked.

There was also the fact that she had tried to assassinate him numerous times before as well.

A sharp edge pressed painfully against his palm, and he pried their hands apart of find a cursed object in the girl-assassin's palm. His pendant, the misty colours swirling inside, the long, golden chain wrapped around his arm. With a violent jerk, he pulled it away from the girl and hastily replaced the chain around his neck.

"Your Majesty!" the servant was really getting impatient. "I'm coming in!"

Chris panicked then. "Wait!" he called back, and leapt out of bed, hastily taking the slumbering assassin and stuffing her beneath his bed. He prayed that she wouldn't be too mad when she wakes with a face full of dust bunnies and attempts to kill him again. He wasn't sure if his luck would continue to hold.

"Your Majesty?"

"It's okay, I'm fine! Just, uh, leave me alone! I'll get ready by myself!" Chris threw open his closet door, pulling out random pairs of trousers and pieces of clothing.

"Don't you need any assistance?"

"No! I'll be totally fine!"

There was a moment of silence. Then the servant hesitantly replied, "I see, Your Majesty… um… Good luck…?"

"Thanks for your support," Chris grumbled as the servant left. He fumbled with the buttons. He awkwardly knotted the laces of his shoes.

"Great." He sighed. "Just great."

He should've paid more attention when the servants helped dress him.

After another hour of clumsy fumbling and mumbled curses, Chris walked out of his chamber, looking relatively presentable. After breakfast, he'll return to his room… and then what?

Clarisse didn't stir from her dreamless slumber, even when the door slammed shut.

Perhaps, even if it was only once, she could sleep to her heart's content, and there wouldn't be a person chasing her down with demands. Gently, the assassin smiled in her sleep.


	9. Scowl or Smile

**I'm so sorry for the late updates. I will try my best to update quicker, and since the story is (just) getting more interesting, I think I should be more eager to write it. Please enjoy!**

 **VIII**

There was something tickling her nose, and she wanted to sneeze, really, really badly. Clarisse began to sit, cracking open her eyes, only for her head to bump into something hard before she was even halfway up. As if the bump had triggered her nose, Clarisse sneezed, and her eyes shot open.

It took her a moment to realize that she was under a bed, and judging from the light streaming through the windows, it was long past morning.

Clarisse's back ached from sleeping on the floor, and her joints were all stiff. Groaning, she dragged herself out from under the bed, trailing behind a few dust bunnies, and stood up, frowning at her dirty hands and clothes. After dusting herself off as well as she could, cursing softly as she did, Clarisse's gaze travelled up towards the door… and stopped when it met a pair of dark brown eyes.

The Crown Prince sat in front of his desk, a book in his hand, and was staring at her. When the Prince finally realized that she had noticed him, his lips split into a wide but awkward grin. "Oh, uh… Hi! H-How did you sleep?"

"What are you doing here?" Clarisse demanded.

Chris chuckled awkwardly. "Well, this is my room."

 _Right_. Clarisse cursed herself for her stupidity. "Okay. Cool." She spun around on her heels, stalking towards the open windows. "I'm leaving."

"Wait!" There was a hasty scraping sound as the chair the Prince sat on was pushed back suddenly. But then when Clarisse glanced back at him, he looked abashed and nervous. "Um… Did you come to assassinate me again?"

Clarisse turned away, deciding not to answer.

"Why?"

She took a deep breath. "Simple. I get paid for it. I get money."

"That's all?" Chris blinked in surprise. "But if you want money… there's plenty of it here."

Clarisse looked back and furrowed her brows, but she didn't ask a question. "What do you mean."

Chris actually flinched. "Well, this _is_ a castle, and it is the capital. People here are relatively well-paid, even if you're a servant. If you work in the courts in the castle-"

"Courts?" Now, she whirled around, her anger showing in her voice, "Are you suggesting that I-"

"I am not suggesting anything." Chris spoke carefully. "I'm just explaining the situation at the castle, that's all. But there are many jobs in the castle: ladies, escorts, servants, soldiers, guards…"

Clarisse narrowed her eyes. "You _are_ suggesting something. You want me to come work in the castle."

"I'm trying to help you," he corrected, smiling charmingly. Clarisse wanted to do nothing but tear that smile off his face. "You said you wanted the money-"

"It's not just about the money."

Chris blinked. "Well then, what is it?"

"It's none of your business." Once again, Clarisse began to leave, only for Chris's words to cut a wall through her path.

"I don't think it's a good reason to kill a person for revenge."

Clarisse froze.

He continued, "I'm not stupid, you know. I heard the news. The soldiers burned down your house when they passed through your village. Your mother was inside."

"Yes, yes she was," Clarisse's voice was hoarse. "And the only reason she ended like this was because I had to kill _you_."

"Do you hate me?"

"No," Clarisse answered truthfully. "I don't hate you. I hate myself for not being able to kill you. If I was more able, she wouldn't be dead. But if I didn't have to kill you, she wouldn't be dead either. So I promise you," Clarisse spun around once more and pointed a threatening finger at the Crown Prince, "I _will_ kill you. Someday, I don't know when, but when you die, you die in _my hand_." Silently, she added, _to prove to myself that I'm not as weak as I actually am._

Chris smiled. "How about we make that a little easier for you?"

She gestured at him to continue, staring at him suspiciously.

"Now that I know for sure that you are out for my blood, I have the upper hand. I can put up all the security and protection, and that's gives you a disadvantage. To even it out, I'll give you a place in the court. You didn't stay long enough in the dungeons for them to get you a picture for the Wanted posters. Most people in the castle haven't even seen your face yet, and I'm sure some makeup would prevent anyone from recognizing." Chris winked.

Clarisse was unfazed as she pondered over his words. They made sense, but something didn't seem right. "Why do you want to help me? Wouldn't you want the upper hand?"

The Crown Prince leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees and placing his head on his hands. His lips quirked into a strange little smile. "But what is a game without a little thrill?"

 **λαβύρινθο** **του** **μυαλού**

Clarisse had never felt so uncomfortable in her life. Even the dress she had worn to the ball hadn't been this bad. Also, she felt like she was going to suffocate and sneeze at the same time with that heavy layer of powder on her face. And what in the name of God is she wearing on her feet?

But when she looked into the mirror, she didn't look as outrageous as she expected. Her shoulder-length brown hair had been washed, combed, and swept up in a neat bun atop her head. A peach-coloured gown fanned out from her waist, and a pair of pristine white gloves hid all the scars and calluses on her hands. Her face was pale, but not overly so, and the servants had outlined her eyes with kohl so they were large and innocent, and along with the rouge smudged over her lips, she looked almost… childish, like a little doll.

She stood wobbly on her high heels and began to limp towards the door. The servants opened the door for her and trickled away. The moment they were gone, Clarisse kicked off the uncomfortable shoes and tossed them beneath the bed. The dress was long enough to cover her feet anyway, so it wasn't a big deal.

Chris was waiting for her down the hall. When he saw her, his eyebrows shot up, and he held out a hand.

"Would you like me to escort you, my lady?" He smiled charmingly. Clarisse took his hand, her head held high, her back straight, but a small scowl twisted her face.

"Call me 'lady' one more time and I will make sure you never utter another word in your life."

Chris chuckled. "It's technically what you are now. You can't deny it forever, especially not after you enter the courts."

Her scowl deepened, and her fingernails dug into the Prince's arm. If Chris noticed anything, he didn't show it as he continued, "In public, you will use the name 'Clara Darrin'. A room has been prepared for you, and I'll appoint you a servant soon."

"I want a quiet one," she spoke. "Somebody who would not speak to anyone about anything."

"A mute, perhaps?"

Clarisse nodded. "That might be best."

Chris laughed suddenly, and though Clarisse now knew that he was a person of much laughter, she couldn't stop an accusing tone from slipping into her voice as she demanded, "What are you laughing about?"

"Oh no, it's nothing. Don't worry about it." The Crown Prince shook his head. "It's just that I didn't expect that you would be so… accepting in the castle. You don't seem troubled by the thought of bossing a person around, especially a person who was richer than you. Servants get paid quite well in the castle, after all."

She glared at him as he chuckled again and added, "Well, technically speaking, they're _still_ richer than you."

"One has to treasure the luxuries of the world when one can," Clarisse declared. "You never know when you won't have them anymore."

Chris nodded, agreeing with her words. "Now, stop scowling, Clarisse, we're almost at the more densely populated areas of the castle now. We'll be reaching the courts soon. Smile."

Instead of smiling, however, her scowl only twisted even more, and there was a hint of disgust in her expression. But the chatter of voices became louder, and suddenly, reality came rushing through Clarisse like a tsunami.

Because she was actually in a dress, wearing makeup, holding the Prince's arm, and walking towards the courts.

Her expression relaxed, her face turned blank. For a second, she allowed herself to close her eyes, steady her resolve, and when her brown eyes open, blood red fire smoldering deep within, she smiled.

And to Chris, it was a beautiful, wonderful thing.


	10. Loving and Lusting

**I will never, ever say that I will update faster again. Not when I keep failing. Enjoy the chapter, and please Review!**

 **IX**

It took _skills_ , Clarisse realized, to keep a place in the courts. It wasn't that she might get kicked out or anything, unless her identity was discovered, but if you wanted to fit in, it wasn't easy. Chris had left her at the entrance of the courts, leaving her a little unsure of what to do. So she took a deep breath, and simply strolled in.

The courts were filled with young, delicate laughter, falsely energetic voices, and so much velvet and dresses that she almost couldn't find a place to step. She settled herself down on the couch closest to the door and farthest from the gaggle of ladies. She also happened to be quite close to the food table, and she helped herself to the little vanilla cupcakes and sickeningly sweet coffee.

When she returned to her perch, a cookie in her hand, she noticed a few girls glancing at her curiously. After a few moments of whispering, two of them separated from the gossiping crowd to approach Clarisse.

"Are you new?" one of them asked timidly.

Clarisse blinked, a little surprised. They didn't sound as stuck-up as she expected them to be. "Um, yes," she answered, trying not to lick her painted lips out of nervousness.

They sat down daintily on the couch near hers.

"What is your name?" the second girl offered her a kindly smile. She had silky dark hair pinned up in an elaborate hairdo, and was very pretty.

"Clar-" she started, then paused and said, "Clara. Clara Darrin."

The dark haired woman gave a little bob of her head in greeting. "Nice to meet you, Clara. I'm Silena, and this is Sophie."

Sophie, a young, petite blonde with milky skin and light eyes, waved at Clarisse a little nervously.

There was a lapse of awkward silence.

"Erm…" Clarisse cleared her voice. "So… what do you usually do here?"

Silena shrugged nonchalantly. "Nothing much but talk. When there are visitors or guests though, we go greet them. Lords from distant lands, princes," and then she rolled her eyes, "Servant boys, even. We're all just a bunch of girls sent over by their fathers so we can find a husband of power. Not many of us actually care about that, though."

"That's… nice." Clarisse wasn't sure how to reply.

"Not really. It gets mighty lonely, and there's nothing to do around here other than talk and gossip." It was Sophie who spoke this time, her sweet voice weary and distressed.

"People don't come over often either." Silena's voice was filled with regret. "This is a declining empire."

Clarisse hummed a small agreement, before she remembered something. "But what about the Prince?"

"Crown Prince Chris?" Sophie furrowed her brows, and Clarisse had to prevent herself from laughing. She nodded as a confirmation, and both Sophie and Silena shook their heads.

"If he's ever getting married, it'd be a distant princess that would help this nation rise from the dust. But we are too forgotten, too broken for foreign princesses to even _consider_ us anymore."

Now _that_ was just sad, and not encouraging at all. But for some reason, tension released from her shoulders, and Clarisse relaxed, strangely relieved.

"But speaking of the Prince…" Sophie began thoughtfully, and in less than a minute, she and Silena had sunken into a deep conversation about the royals of the castle. Clarisse sat mutely by the side and absentmindedly listened to them gossip. There was nothing that set warning bells ringing in her head: nothing about screams at night, and nothing about insanity. There was nothing they knew that she didn't.

Until they mentioned execution.

"What?" Clarisse's head shot up, bewildered.

"There is an execution tomorrow," Silena elaborated. "The death of a well-known thief."

 _Just because of theft?_ Clarisse wondered. So she asked, "Who is he?"

"I don't know his name," was the answer, "but rumor says he fell in love with a princess, eloped with her, and was captured in the devastation of her death."

Sophie added, "It was a former princess. Her father was thrown from the throne, and she barely escaped with her life. A wanted thief and a wanted princess." She gave a small, tinkling laugh as if it was something humourous. "The family was called Gardner."

 **λαβύρινθο** **του** **μ** **υαλού**

What horrified her most was not the fact that the boy was being executed for theft, nor was it his tragic story; it was the realization that she _knew_ him.

The boy had been chained in the cell next to her, and she should've known, because a guard had _told_ her he was going to die soon. She had spoken to him, and he had answered, and it was horrible because he was going to die and there were _nothing she could do about it_. Not without throwing away her disguise – and life – in the process.

She spotted Chris on the dais, sitting beside his father, and she heard the crowds cheering and chanting for the death of a _boy_. And she wondered if the audience would cheer just as loud if it was her down in that platform.

What sickened her most was that they were _entertained_ by this. In their minds, sinners were no longer human, and animals donning human skins should be slaughtered.

But there were nothing she could do from her position among the court ladies in the audience other than watch, and the ropes tightened around his neck, and the stool was kicked away from his feet, and _he didn't even struggle_ as his windpipe was cut off and his face turned blue and-

Clarisse was not a coward, but she had never fled so quickly.

 **λαβύρινθο** **του** **μ** **υαλού**

Time passed faster than she would have liked, and Clarisse was beginning to be at loss. What was she doing in this castle? She still could not make herself talk and laugh like the other ladies in the courts, but she knew how to smile like them now, how to act and pretend to be like them. She pretended she liked them, and almost fooled herself.

One night, she laid down in her bed, sinking into the deep mattress and pulling the thick blankets over her head. Before, such luxury would have brought her comfort beyond imagine, but now that she was used to it, it was nothing but wood, feathers, and cloth.

Her head was a whirlpool of confusing thoughts, so distracting that she almost didn't hear her chamber door swing open quietly. But she did, and she froze, and she heard footsteps that rounded towards the bed. _There was someone in her room._

She discreetly peeked out over the covers, but all she could see was shadows… until a figure fell right on top of her.

The wind was knocked right out of her lungs, and Clarisse wheezed, trying to draw enough breath to scream, to swear, to fight – anything. But before air returned to fill her chest, the person that had fallen atop of her struggled, and twisted, and then her mouth was blocked by another, and Clarisse was frozen in shock.

It took her a long time to realize that the person was _kissing_ her, and one hand was in her hair and another pressing down on her arm, and it was _Chris_.

The moment her brain started functioning again, Clarisse began to struggle, but the blanket made it difficult, and Chris was too heavy. She was suffocating, until Chris broke the kiss for one second to breathe as well, and she took the chance to draw air into her constricted lungs; and then they were kissing again, except this time, his hands were moving, and they were running down her shoulder, arm, side… his touch on her exposed thigh was freezing against her burning skin. A shudder ran up her spine, and she wanted to gasp, but Chris's mouth was still around hers, and in one small burst of energy, she drove her knee up between his legs. Even with a thick blanket between them, that was bound to hurt.

Chris groaned, rolling away from Clarisse, and she jumped up from the bed, breathing heavy, skin burning. The Crown Prince wore nothing but a pair of thin cotton pants and the pendant falling from its chain onto his bare chest. The substance inside it swirled colourfully, as luring as the last time she had seen it, and for a long time, all she could do was stare at it, watching it drift, and prance, and dance like little fire fairies.

But then something tightened around her wrist, and pulled her onto the bed and under the blankets.

Chris was tearing at her clothes now, his mouth catching hers and pressing down hungrily. From the side of her vision, she could see the pendant glowing, swirling… He was hard against her, and his touch sent butterflies scattering in her stomach and fluttering over her spine. But she was a fighter, and she was stubborn, and Clarisse reached for that beautiful thing around the Prince's neck, and _pulled_.

The chain snapped silently, and silence was what fell in the room.

Chris was unconscious, barely breathing, but Clarisse noticed none of that. Not with the war that erupted inside her head.

There were two voices in addition to her own. Two new voices, and both of them belonged to Chris. They were screaming, and shouting, and one was sinful, while the other resisted.

She felt lust. It was something hotter than fire, and it ran like lava through her veins, but it was not painful. But something was filtering the lava, dripping water onto the flame, and the other voice was screaming _STOP! Stop with the nonsense! Stop with the thoughts!_

And the first voice, filled with emotion that was love, yet not quite as beautiful as love – but how was _anything_ inside her beautiful – replied with weeping, and begging, then screaming, and laughing.

It was driving her crazy; she was going absolutely nuts.

But no – it wasn't her.

The only person truly insane in this entire castle was Chris.


	11. The Colour Green

**Sorry, this chapter took a long time. I believe the next chapters will take even longer: they are more annoying to write, but I will try. School is getting busy as well, life is tiring. I know these are all excuses, but I really am trying. This chapter nearly killed me while writing it, my brain is currently completely useless. But still, please enjoy!**

 **X**

Sometime during the insanity clashing in her mind that night, Clarisse fell asleep. When she woke the next morning, she was buried under her tangled blankets, and Chris and his pendant was gone.

She dressed quickly, throwing on the simplest dress she could find and a pair of flats, and hurried out her room.

Dawn had only just broken out over the horizon: the air was still chilled, the halls were still empty. Only a few servants had risen to begin tending to the hearths and tugging the curtains open. They bowed as Clarisse rushed past, but she barely acknowledged them, searching for that corridor she had stumbled across on accident nearly a month ago.

She realized too late that the corridors look mostly the same, and was starting to get lost when she spotted two guards slumped against the wall next to another branch of hallways.

 _There it is._

When the two guards saw her, they straightened hastily, but Clarisse gave them no time to react in any way as one hand shot out, pressing hard against the pressure point on one guards neck, before she pivoted, elbow slamming into the back of the second guard's head and knocking him out cold. She didn't hesitate to run down the halls as quietly as she could, wondering which one was the chamber of the Crown Prince.

And then she remembered: sun shining directly into his room during the mornings, the young moonlight washing the walls silver… His room faces dawn.

After a few more turns, she found it. It was the first time she entered his room through the front door, and honestly, she didn't find it as exciting as barging in through the window.

It didn't shock her enough to find that Chris wasn't asleep either.

He was sitting at his desk, wearing casual clothes, peacefully reading a book until she had stormed in. He looked up with a startled gaze, and it turned a little confused when he saw that it was her.

"Clarisse?" he sounded so puzzled that Clarisse wanted to knock his head- "Is something wrong? What's happening?"

"I'm going to kill you," Clarisse announced, slamming the door shut behind her. "What is _wrong_ with you?"

There was a long stretch of confused silence while Chris continued to stare at her, baffled, and she waited for his response.

"What happened?" the Crown Prince finally spoke, except it wasn't the answer she was looking for.

"Don't you remember?" Gods of Olympus, if he actually _forgot_ -!

"No. I'm sorry, Clarisse, but whatever I did last night-" He _knew_ , but he _didn't_ know. Yes, he better look ashamed!

 _"You,"_ Clarisse stalked up to him, cornering him against the wall when he tried to step back, "You are _utterly, completely MAD!_ "

Silence met her statement, and she allowed her anger and frustration to leak off of her as she waited for a response that Chris was so reluctant to give. He was wearing that damned pendent around his neck again, the chain somehow fixed, and the colours swirled and changed rapidly as an uncomfortable expression flitted across his face.

"Yes." And then he visibly deflated, shoulders slumping and head bowing. "Yes, you're right."

Clarisse felt her anger begin to ebb away. "At night," she added softly. "It only comes at night."

"I don't remember anything the next morning," Chris murmured. "But when I woke up in your room, on your bed, I _panicked_ , and… and I don't remember anything," he repeated. "The voices only come out at night, and they lock me in a place where I can't see, hear, or feel anything. So tell me, Clarisse," a begging tone began to crawl into his voice, "What happened last night?"

"Nothing of high importance," she answered curtly.

"It can't be not important if you sneaked into the royal quarters just to talk to me," the Prince pointed out.

So Clarisse inhaled deeply and slowly through her nose before demanding to know, "Why don't the King and Queen try to cure it?"

"It's not like they haven't tried," Chris answered. "They hired doctors and physicians from all over the continent and even some _outside_ of that, but no one seemed to know what to do about it. So-called sorcerers and witches proved to be no use either. They've given up."

"That's a ridiculous thing to say," the former assassin declared. "When did the… insane stuff start?"

Chris thought for a moment, unconsciously fiddling with the pendant. "When I was around ten. We travelled to the neighbouring kingdom for some business and I was exploring the forest when suddenly… I can't remember. Everything was dark, and when I woke up, it's just like this."

"Well then, you're not born with it. If you got it somehow, you should be able to get rid of it as well!"

But the Crown Prince shook his head sadly. "It doesn't work that way, Clarisse."

"Of course it does!" Her temper was flaring again. "How dare your parents give up so easily when you're the one who is suffering?!" How dare the royal family waste all the resources they had when Clarisse was working herself to death just to pay _one_ physician to come to their insignificant town to give her mother _one_ bottle of medicine to save her a little longer?! "I _know_ what is happening to you: you can't let this go on any further!"

"Does it look like I have a choice?" Chris didn't raise his voice like Clarisse did, but there was obvious annoyance in his tone. "I didn't ask for this!"

"No one asked for anything!" Clarisse was shrieking. "No one asks, because they _can't_! This gods-damned kingdom is rotting from the inside out and it's not just you who doesn't have a choice! No one has any choices anymore because people are simply trying to survive!"

When Chris gets angry, a dark blush crawls up his neck and infiltrates his cheeks and ears. As if sensing his emotions, the colourful mist in the pendant around his neck began to swirl faster, until it was a tornado of white and red and green and blue, its twisting form warping and arching like a beast in agony. "Don't bring the economy into this!"

"And you're ashamed!" Because he so obviously was! "You're ashamed, and whose fault is that?"

"I'm not-" he tried to protest.

"The King and Queen! Your parents drained the kingdom dry and they don't know what to do about it because they can't! The people consider you as their only hope, Chris! They think that _you_ can bring them out of this dark age and save the kingdom, but you _can't_! Why? Because your parents aren't even bothering to save _you_ from _this_!"

She moved without realizing that she had moved, but that was because her mind was clouded and distracted by ire. The pendant was hot to the touch, the colours inside dizzying and so distractingly _annoying_ and the chain snapped as easily as the last time she had broken it. Chris wasn't even given the chance to react before Clarisse raised her hand high above her head, and with a dramatic whip of her arm, the glass of the pendant shattered the way glass does, its golden frame denting in connection with the stone floor, the mist and colours and mysteries vanished in the air.

Chris gave a cry of what could only be described as pure anguish and he fell to his knees, snatching up the snapped golden chain with the broken charm because it was something important to him. "How dare you?!" he cried, eyes blown wide and horrified.

"How dare _you_?!" Clarisse crowed, a strange triumph clawing at her chest. "That's why I hate people like you! You have power, you have money, and you don't even appreciate it in the very least!"

"And how can _you_ appreciate something you've never actually had?" Chris shot back, almost snarling. He was clutching the pendant's gold remains to his chest. For some reasons, his dark hair seemed to have grown longer. Had it always brushed the tips of his eyes like this? "You kill for a living: the money you make is artificial – worthless!"

"I kill," Clarisse interrupted shrilly, "Because _I have no choice!_ You've never had to work for your money, you inherit it! A spoiled brat like you-"

"Becoming king is _not_ as simple as you think it is!" Now Chris was shouting, and he had gotten back on his feet, brandishing the gold in his hand like it was a weapon. He looked different somehow, strange, like something was missing, or something had appeared, but Clarisse just couldn't figure out _what_.

"Then enlighten me, please," Clarisse sneered. "I'm a little peasant who doesn't know anything, having never gone to school because _your_ failed government system doesn't offer that kind of service to the people it's supposed to help!"

Something was definitely wrong now. It would've felt comical if it hadn't suddenly become so painstakingly obvious.

One thing Clarisse noticed was that Chris would look horrible if he ever decide to grow a beard.

But then she realized that those fine, dark lines spreading from his temple was not actually hair, but something that resembled a spider web, crisscrossing and forming an unique, elegant pattern; the lines had spread quickly at first, but it soon slowed down. Clarisse had been so enraptured by it that she hadn't realized Chris was ranting until he suddenly stopped.

Silence drew Clarisse back to the physical world and she was confused about the sudden emptiness in the room before she noticed how black the Crown Prince's eyes looked. Those black eyes stared at her, but didn't actually see her, and it was so dark and endless that Clarisse found herself stepping away because it felt _dangerous_.

But what really snapped Clarisse back to herself was when those soulless black eyes rolled back, and Chris collapsed onto the stone floor, unconscious. She rushed forward immediately, dropping to one knee and frantically checking for his pulse. His hands were ice cold, as was the rest of his body, and his tanned skin had been drained unnaturally pale.

He looked dead.

But – ah! There is was! His pulse was near nonexistent, but it was there, and he breathed, though weakly and scarcely, something that scared Clarisse more than it should have. She watched as poison leaked from his tortured mind into his veins, slowly but surely spreading to the rest of his body. Judging by the lethargic process it was making, she estimated that it might take one week, more or less, for it to fill him completely. But catching a glimpse of gold clutched in his hand, Clarisse realized that everything had been its fault. The source of Chris's insanity must've come from there. Except now, it was her fault. Chris wasn't insane anymore, but he was dying, and it was Clarisse's fault.

For the first time in her life, the assassin felt guilt twisting inside her, and she didn't even know where it erupted from. Maybe it was the fact that she hadn't actually _meant_ to kill him, or maybe it was because she realized that she _couldn't_. She would kill herself before she allowed herself to kill him.

Clarisse felt disoriented, she didn't know what to do. She didn't realize what she was doing until she blinked, and realized that she was standing in front of her room, her hand already on the knob. When had she gotten here? Her mind was a mess, her thoughts in chaos. Her body moved on its own accord, and she found herself wearing a tunic and pants originally used for horse riding but she had never actually used. Flexible leather boots were pulled up to her knees, and she discovered weapons everywhere: around her hips, her waist, in her shoes, in her sleeves, in her braided hair and everything she had used before, guarding her. When they find Chris, and discover that she had disappeared, they might very possibly think that she had tried to poison him. The guards had seen her face: they'd be able to testify.

If she left the castle, she might never be able to return. Chris was going to die, Clarisse would be found out, and she is leaving _right now_.

The castle was just beginning to wake up now, but she didn't care. It had been so long since she had moved like this, feel her muscles straining and the wind on her face as she ran. She ran and fled until the road was nothing but a small path worn into the rock, the castle was several toothpicks reaching for the sky, and her legs couldn't take it anymore and her lungs strained.

When she didn't feel as completely exhausted and overwhelmed, Clarisse began to walk. She didn't know how long she walked, but when green appeared, the first glimpse of a rare forest, the sun was falling and Clarisse was starving and dehydrated.

Green was a rare colour to see in their kingdom. The abundant forests surrounding them marked the territory of another ruler, and though there weren't many guards situated around the borders, no one dared or bothered to cross. People from other places were happy where they were. People from Clarisse's home did not have the strength or necessities to survive the journey.

Something felt different the moment the moment she stepped into the forest. The air was suddenly cooler, cleaner, moister, and the dying sunlight was filtered to be pleasant and soothing instead of scorching. It felt like something was suddenly eased from her shoulders – she had never felt so relaxed before.

Her feet ached, and Clarisse slumped against a tree, its bark scratchy but _alive_ , and when she sat onto the ground, she found the grass impossibly soft, not coarse or rough at all, and there were _flowers_. Real flowers, with roots and soft, velvety petals, unlike the sprayed-wet, soggy blossoms that often flimsily decorated the houses that could afford them. She felt like she had entered a dream, except she was so, so tired and her mind was calling at her to stay awake but her body resisted.

Her thoughts wandered to the land she had abandoned behind her, then to Chris, and another pang of guilt flashed through her.

But she was too tired now to worry. Tomorrow. Yes, tomorrow, she would wake up, and she would figure out what to do. Just… not today. The world was too dark, and comfortable, and warm, and her eyes slid shut. Tomorrow would be good.

And with the darkness came the spirits.

They weren't really spirits, but little forest creatures who came out in the night. They were strangely made, shapeless, their heads like small, white potatoes with crude black holes for eyes and a mouth; they made no sounds as they walked, popping out on branches of trees, a dim glow around them that lit the forest up with little fairy lights. Their heads tilted at random timings, and there were a strange series of clicking sounds when the heads snapped back in place. It was a strange sight to see, but stranger to them was the intruder upon their forest, and the Spirit Fae crowded around the newcomer to get a peek of her. Despite the tiny racket they made around her with their excited clicking, she did not wake, and continued to slumber on like a sleeping beauty who had sleepwalked out of her castle.

And in some aspects, she really was.


	12. Smoldering Gold

**XI**

When Clarisse woke, it was still dark. The barest hint of light was creeping up the surface of the horizon, just peeking over the treetops. The stars were still shining, and the moon was a thin curved line weary of the night and ready to recede into dawn. Even the birds were still in their nests, but Clarisse had woken because she had heard singing.

The words was in a language she did not understand, but the tune was a simple lullaby that had travelled through the desert lands of her homeland before the famine had turned living into survival, and culture was thrown away for a mouthful of food. But Clarisse remembered her mother singing it, and that's why she woke. And found herself weeping.

She hastily wiped away the tears the moment she realized that the warmth on her cheeks was not from the sun, and the singing was not an echo of her forgotten dreams. She wasn't alone. Clarisse was tense as she stood and brushed herself off, her senses prickling for any sign of possible danger. The singing voice was faint but solid, so she followed it through the maze of trees, until the sound of running water reached her ears.

Then when she peeked into the clearing from behind a tree, hidden in the shadows, she found the source of the singing: a young girl washing her clothes, her golden hair streaked with darker shades braided and woven with a royal blue ribbon. Her skin was the colour of milk and honey, smooth and unblemished, and when she opened her mouth to continue onto the next verse of the lullaby, Clarisse swore she heard a few birds stirring from their sleep, waking to the dawn, and chirping along with the tune.

Clarisse thought that she looked like she was from a scene in a fairy tale, a harmless, innocent child by the bank of the river, and she almost turned to leave when the singing halted abruptly and the girl called out, "And what is a killer doing in my forest?"

Clarisse's hand shot immediately to her weapons, but the child was already saying, "Now, there's no need to be so tense; I'm only wondering. I won't harm you, really." She had stood up, wiping her wet hands on her simple white dress. "Just-Just step out from behind that tree. I just want to talk. It gets awfully lonely here, you know."

Clarisse did not step out into the clearing. "Is there no one else with you?" she dared to ask, because that was what mattered.

"No, it's just me." There was a short pause. "You look rather road worn. You are from the desert lands, I presume?"

 _Could the girl see her?_ Clarisse wondered. She acted like she did, even though the assassin was still hidden behind the thick tree trunk, wary of the child. _How ridiculous,_ she scoffed at herself. _You're an assassin!_ If the girl does anything that could be hazardous to Clarisse's plans, all she needed to do was kill her, simple as that. So she stepped out from the safety of the shadows, her hair tucked inside her dark hood, her eyes narrowed harshly at the young girl. "And how do you know that?"

The girl clapped in delight, a smile breaking out on her lips. The colour of her eyes was forever changing, like the fluid mist that had been trapped in the Crown Prince's pendant. "You're in my forest; of course I'd know!"

" _Your_ forest?" Clarisse challenged.

She laughed, spreading her arms wide. "Welcome to the forest, heartless killer."

 **λαβύρινθο** **του** **μ** **υαλού**

"So…" the young girl asked as she led the assassin down an invisible path through the forest, "What brings you here?"

Clarisse wasn't sure how to answer. "I don't know," she admitted.

"Let me guess," the girl tapped her chin thoughtfully. "To visit someone? To kill someone? Or," her smile turned mischievous, "are you on a mission?"

"I don't know," the older teenager repeated.

"Well, that's not a healthy way to live," commented the younger. "A person should always have some kind of goal in life. Ah, here we are." They emerged at a wide clearing, where a little dirt path lead to the mouth of an ivy-covered entrance of a cave dug in gray rock. The ground behind the mouth of the cave rose rapidly into a steep hill, and the rock was melded into the soil so that Clarisse was unable to guess the size of the inside of the cave.

"Do you live here?" she asked, genuinely curious.

"Yes," the girl replied. "It's quite nice, actually: warm in the winter, cool in the summer. There are plenty of resources around as well. Come on in!" She pushed aside the curtain of vines and they entered. After placing her basket of laundry on the table, the girl split the vines into two halves, rolling the strands together and tying them tightly with a piece of rope to allow sunlight to filter into the space inside.

The cave was quite spacious with a hearth in the middle of the cave, a table nearby with three wooden chairs around it, and an old bed neatly made. Tools of every kind – for cooking, gardening, hunting – either hung from the walls or were piled in a corner.

"If you have nowhere to go for now, I don't mind if you stay with me for some time," the girl told her, beaming. "I don't get many visitors."

Clarisse was strangely taken aback by her suggestion, and for a moment, her cold demeanor stumbled as she stuttered lightly. "I-I… well…" Finally, she just settled with nodding.

"Brilliant!" the blonde hurried to the back of the cave, where a large wooden cabinet stood. "I'll pile a few blankets for you as a bed, if you don't mind. I'll prepare breakfast after that, would you like to help? Oh, please do put down your weapons and all that. Wouldn't it be inconvenient?"

 _Was it common for girls of her age to act like this?_ Clarisse wondered. She thought the girl was a little annoying, the way she chattered so constantly. But it was comforting to see someone so at ease, not hiding behind white powder and layers of dresses or savage ways while struggling just to survive through the day. If this was the life of a little girl living by herself in the middle of the forest, Clarisse could hardly imagine the luxury of the royalty and nobles.

"There you go!" the girl clapped her hands off. She had pulled out the thickest, heaviest blankets and piled them to form a makeshift mattress situated beside the wardrobe. There were a pillow and neatly folded blanket perched on top. "It's pretty warm these days," she explained, "but the nights can get chilly sometimes. If you get cold, there're always more blankets in the wardrobe."

"I see."

"Well then, breakfast!"

Clarisse abandoned her cloak and unstrapped most of her weapons, leaving them on the 'bed'. And then when the girl admired her perfect cuts, each slice of potato clean and identically thick, Clarisse couldn't help but notice that her cuts were equally beautiful; and she felt that there were malicious eyes glaring from invisible places, bloodthirsty in purpose, and the young girl was laughing in its face.

 **λαβύρινθο** **του** **μ** **υαλού**

If Clarisse didn't know better, she would've thought that the forest was magical. Time seemed to pass quicker, and when she looked back to the past two days she had been here, she found her memories hazy, her worries overridden by luxury in the plainest form and a peaceful, undisturbed life. On the third afternoon, when the young girl went out into the forest to fetch some edible plants for supper, Clarisse found all her problems suddenly rushing back into her mind, barreling into her like a boar and almost knocking her away. And it was so terrible, so burdening that she had almost pushed it away again if she hadn't suddenly hear someone ask, _"Do you hate me?"_

 _"No,"_ she had told Chris that time, because it really was her own fault that she was too weak, too useless. She had told him that she'll kill him one day, and now that it was happening, she suddenly wanted to take everything back. She had never hated him, or wanted him dead. His presence had been comforting, entertaining, and it reminded Clarisse of the part of her that was vulnerably human. Killing Chris would be like murdering the final piece of her that still mourned, that still regretted, that still felt, except _she did it_. She had smashed the pendant, and Chris was dying, and there was nothing she could do about it.

Clarisse swallowed hard. Breathing was suddenly difficult, and she found herself yearning to feel the sun on her face, the rocks hard and unyielding and stable under her boots, and the harsh desert wind whipping at her face as she ran. But there were only trees around here, the breezes gently rustling through the leaves, and the grass was soft, a beautiful shade of natural green, lovely like everything else in the kingdom.

For the first time since she got here, she hated it.

Clarisse strode towards the entrance of the cave, slightly panicked, heart pounding in her chest, when her foot kicked against something soft but tangling, and she stumbled over her own feet. The thing she kicked turned out to be a sack of some sort, tied clumsily shut, and peeking out from under the girl's bed. Curious, Clarisse untied the knot, and found it filled with clothes.

Men's clothes.

The cloth was thin and worn, old, but not ancient. When she pulled out a brown shirt, the folds were obvious, and some of the colour had faded. There was also a small hunting knife, rusted and blunt, hidden at the bottom of the sack, along with-

A journal.

A piece of paper, yellow with age, fluttered to the ground when she took out the book. It was a poster, possibly torn from a wall, announcing a hearty award for the head of a golden-eyed witch dwelling in a cave hidden in the forest. When Clarisse opened the journal, she found many words faded, the ropes binding the book nearly disintegrating when she opened the book too wide.

Despite the vague, fading words, Clarisse found what she read quite similar to the stories she had listened to her mother read to her when she still had most of her health. The journal began less than ten years ago, and it spoke of a soldier who entered the forest, determined to bring fame, money, and power onto his name. His journey was long, but not difficult, and there had been a young girl who had appeared to him with the foulest of beasts, claiming to be the Queen of the forest. He described her as goddess-like, with hair woven from gold and copper, skin whiter and smoother than a princess's, and eyes like an entire being of their own, never settling on one colour. The soldier spoke of how the 'Queen of the forest' had helped him, and when he found the witch, he discovered that she wasn't some wicked being, but a lonely girl. He fell in love with her, except a bargain with the Queen of the forest prevented him from saving her, and he was planning to escape with the witch. That was where the journal ended, a small, sweet story, in Clarisse's opinion, but terrifying when she flipped back a few pages and reread the soldier's encounter with the blonde girl with restless eyes.

"Interesting story?"

Clarisse jumped, head snapping up, her wide eyes pinpointing the source of the honey-coated voice. She stared at the golden blonde curls, streaks of many shades of red flashing like metal under the setting sun; the white skin, dusted gold by the falling light, the gently curved mouth and delicate features; the deep, wide eyes like a fire blazing through stained glass windows. Clarisse found her mouth forming words before her mind could come up with them. _"What are you?"_

And for reasons Clarisse could not fathom, the young girl threw back her head and laughed.

* * *

 **This chapter should not have taken such a long time, but for some reasons, I found it extremely hard to get out. Please review, however. There is only one more chapter to the story, not counting an epilogue, so I'll try to get it over as soon as I could. Thank you all for reading, and please review!**


	13. Anchor

**XII**

The girl tilted her head thoughtfully to the side, her smile unwavering. "What a difficult question to ask. I am many things. It depends on how you decide to look at me." She came forward, placing her basket of herbs onto the table. "I am a goddess, a nymph, a ghost; a mocker, an executioner, an actor, a liar. I am a killer." Now, she turned back to look at Clarisse in the eye, her chin raised high and proud, smile no longer sweet, but more cruel. "But most of all, I am a Queen, and you are in _my_ forest."

"So what?"

The question made the Queen blink.

"So what if I am?" Clarisse continued. "Aren't you being a little hypocritical? You welcome me into your home, you beg me to stay, and now you act as if I am an intruder? Or are you pretending to be one of the evil witches in storybooks who lure children to them with sweets and chocolate, then eat them?"

" _Witch?_ " An enraged deity scowled at her from behind the mask of a child.

"So you're the Queen of the Forest," Clarisse was standing now; the journal discarded onto the bed, and she kicked the sack out of the way. "And _that's_ why you know everything. You know why I'm here, and you've just been playing dumb the whole time."

"That is not true," said the Queen, nearly scowling. "I couldn't figure out if you were running away from or trying to save the cursed prince."

"Cursed?" Clarisse's eyes narrowed. "What made you think he's cursed?"

The Queen's laughter was malicious and mischievous. "Why, that's easy. _I'm_ the one who cursed him." And then she was saying something else, except Clarisse found herself deaf with the roaring of her blood and pounding in her own ears.

Chris was… _cursed_? By _the Queen_?

"You broke the pendant, didn't you?" Clarisse wanted nothing more but to wipe that smile off the girl's face. "When the pendant breaks, he will die in a week. How long has it been? Four days? He should be starting to have difficulty breathing by now. Aren't you _glad_ , assassin? Didn't you enter the castle to kill him?"

"Fix him."

Her demand was met by silence. "Fix him, I said!"

"Why should I?"

"Because-!" Because she loved Chris. Because it was her fault and she felt guilty and she had _never_ felt guilty for killing someone before. Because inside she was screaming and weeping and she didn't know what to do. Because if the Queen didn't fix him, no one can.

"What will you give me in return?"

The Queen was willing to give her a chance. "Anything," the assassin gasped, desperate. "Name your price."

The Queen did not take long to think, and she answered unfalteringly. "I have a cure, and I'll give you to you in the exchange of my death."

"If I kill you," Clarisse translated hesitatingly, "you will give me the cure."

She thought the Queen would actually give an effort to live, but even when Clarisse struck, her dagger burying deep into her chest, blood spreading like a blooming red flower on the front of her dress, her smile never faded. She didn't even stumble; she didn't fall.

She simply smiled, and then the world was swept away in a whirlwind of images and sounds and screams. Clarisse found herself alone in a place with no walls, no boundaries, no ground, and she felt like she was standing but was actually floating above an abyss of flickering, rapidly changing pictures. Cautious, but curious, she reached out slowly-

The image rippled when her fingers brushed across its surface, the painted sunrise washing into the pure blue of day, then dyed with colors of dusk. The sounds that had sounded like faraway conversations suddenly echoed inside her mind.

 _"Father!"_ She saw a golden haired child, no older than twelve, run up to a tanned and copper haired man with her arms outstretched. Her father's face burst into a grin, and he swung her up from the ground, spinning in a circle.

 _"-my little Golden Princess!"_

The image flickered out of sight, but another dashed in front of Clarisse to replace it.

 _"-na,"_ a voice was saying, barely above a whisper, _"If I asked you, will you marry me?"_

And then it was gone as well, the faceless boy's voice cut off by a sudden scream.

 _"HOW DARE YOU!"_ And it was that girl – the same golden haired girl who had laughed and loved and lived – now screaming and running and weeping and-

 _The world was stained red._

 _I can't see anything._

 _I can't breathe._

 _Where am I?_

 _Why- it hurts! It hurts why does it hurt so much why is everything gone where am I- I want to breathe it hurts it hUrTs iT hURTs IT HURTS-_

 _I dOn'T wAnT tO dIe!_

 _'It's not like you have a choice.'_

And the blood hardened to black, the body decomposed and crumbled, and when she could suddenly breathe again she found herself screaming because suddenly she wasn't _her,_ she was _them_. She wasn't _one_ , she was _many_. It was the pain and emptiness of a fractured and scattered soul, of watching the world change and she stayed the same _(a dingy little bar with blood staining the floors, lugging a body into the back alley and telling them to_ run _, down the river and far, far away, and_ thank you, thank you for saving me _)_ and she couldn't stop screaming and weeping but she couldn't leave because-

A witch.

A dark skinned woman, muttering incantations and casting spells, clutching to her chest-

A child.

A girl with the same dark skin, but beautiful golden eyes, who grew and lived and knew nothing of the world outside the forest, and if she was more curious she would've found-

A soldier.

A clumsy, soft-hearted man who fell in love with the person he was supposed to kill.

And they were running, gasping, trembling, then suddenly they were falling, and- _it was the golden-haired girl, it had been her all along and_ she fell with them, but laughed, because standing over the lovers' broken bodies, the most she could do was give them a grave. But there was also the prince. More like a child and a victim than a prince, because how could he answer a question he didn't understand?

 _His pride had been his downfall._

And Clarisse watched and listened as Chris fell to his knees, clutched his head, and screamed.

 **λαβύρινθο** **του** **μ** **υαλού**

 _'I need the cure,'_ she realized.

 _"Come get it."_ The voice echoed all around her. The flashing images were disorienting and dizzying, and Clarisse suddenly found herself unbalanced when she spun around in search of the golden-haired child.

Clarisse would gladly 'come get it', except _how do you kill somebody when you're inside their mind?_

She knew the answer immediately: _You can't._

To kill the golden-haired girl, _again_ or _finally_ , she had to get out of here. She doubted that she was literally, physically inside the Queen's mind, watching her memories, but when she drew her dagger across her own wrist, the blood that welled up _seemed_ real, and the pain that followed made everything _feel_ real. If it wasn't for that one second in her pain when her surroundings flashed back to the cave before melting into the hurricane of thoughts, she might've given up.

But pain was the best anchor to keep someone awake, and it was also her only way out of this virtual world.

Several drops of blood splattered onto the invisible floor that turned into solid dirt for a moment when she slashed another line across her wrist. Thin streams of red ran down her arms, glistening against the white world and flashing lights that-

Disappeared.

Suddenly, the assassin was plunged into darkness and silence, and she could no longer see the images or her own bleeding arm. Something she was unable to detect slammed into her chest, knocking her backwards off her feet and onto something hard and smooth. Her hand closed around something cool and slim, like a handle, and it took her a moment to realise that she was sitting in a chair.

It took her another moment to discover that she couldn't move. Her hands were tied down to the arms of the chair, and her back pressed against the wooden board behind her, something tightly wrapping around her waist and securing her abdomen against the back of the chair.

Then, a voice broke harshly through the terrifying silence.

 _"Tell me."_

It was a familiar voice, one that would've brought her comfort if it wasn't for its coldness and hidden cruelty.

 _"Answer me."_

"What?" Clarisse choked out, mind still reeling as Chris's voice repeated,

 _"Tell me."_

"What do you want?!" she shouted back, struggling against her bonds, when blinding light sliced through the darkness.

And illuminated vaguely familiar crimson-splattered walls and a rippling floor of blood.

She was overwhelmed by the smell of carrion and blood, and she gagged, eyes watering.

Then, Clarisse realised that something was missing.

No- something had changed.

Last time she had been here, there had been a creature – a person, beaten and cut and tortured, tied to the chair in the middle of the-

 _She_ was tied to a chair in the middle of the room.

A faint splash behind her notified of another presence in the room, and the biting coldness of an angled blade pressing against her cheek only confirmed it. Somebody was breathing heavily next to her ear, his warm breath coming out in little pants and gasps.

 _"Speak."_

Clarisse's head jerked when Chris whispered beside her ear, and the blade he had positioned over her face pierced through a layer of skin, crimson welling and dropping like tears. _'This isn't real,'_ she told herself repeatedly. _'It's a figment of the Queen's sick, cruel imagination, SNAP OUT OF IT!"_

 _"Answer me!"_

"What do you _want?!_ " Except she shouldn't have spoken, because when the blade was embedded into the arm of the chair, it pinned down her hand as well. She felt herself scream, but didn't hear it, and Chris was already demanding, _"Tell me!"_

"Tell you _what?!_ " Her leg numbed suddenly, before exploding with pain. For the first time, Chris circled around the back of her chair to face her, his perfect, handsome face cold and regal, his eyes dull and mad. His clothes – a casual white shirt and brown trousers – were splattered with blood – her blood, and the silver blade held expertly between his fingers were tarnished and caked with the substance. Just seeing his face and his expression was enough to make Clarisse barely swallow a desperate sob.

 _'This isn't him,'_ she reminded herself. _'Chris is back in the castle, waiting to be cured. You have to return with the cure! You need to cure!'_

 _But… how?_

A familiar gold chain glinted around not-Chris's neck, the pendant fell to his chest, the glass enclosed with gold. Except now, the pendant was empty. There were no swirling colours or dancing mist. It was a simple glass case on a golden chain. A glass case that, now that she was looking even more closely, was more like a tiny bottle. The gold head was like a cork, and she wondered what would happen if she tried to open it.

The pendant was dangling in thin air now, the thin gold chain barely visible, and not-Chris's breath was hot against her skin when he leaned forward to hiss at her, _"Why won't you say anything. It would save you from much less-"_

She lunged with her teeth bared, and when he jerked back, the chain snapped, and the pendant dangled from the gold she held between her teeth. Not-Chris growled, reaching for the pendant, tugging at it with such force that it would've broke Clarisse's teeth if she hadn't let go in the last second. In a bout of clumsiness, the pendant slipped from the imposter's fingers, barely causing a ripple in the blood when it fell onto the ground. Her legs were tied down, and so she placed as much force as she could, pressing one foot down on top of the pendant. When her torturer tried to retrieve it, wedging his fingers under her boot and forcing the pendant out, there was a tiny popping sound when the cork was pulled free and the glass body rolled away.

There was a second of silence before a sudden sucking sound, and the world distorted as if her surroundings were being rolled up, crumpled up, folded, and forced into the mouth of the bottle while she remained in one place. The girl's memories peeled away from around her and everything was sucked into the tiny bottle, including the cork, which was the last to submit to its gravity, and was forcibly stuffed back into its position over its mouth, keeping the pendant safely locked.

For two long seconds, Clarisse remained suspended in darkness, still restrained, her cuts throbbing, the only thing she could see being the weakly glowing bottle where pale colours whipped up a frenzied storm inside the bottle, unable to touch Clarisse with its wrath.

Then, the world shattered. It was as if she had been in a room made of glass smeared with black ink, and someone took a hammer and knocked down its walls. Cracks spider-webbed from the ceiling down and all around her, bits of light peeking through before everything dissolved into blinding white.

It took her eyes some time to adjust, so it was the reality of the pain that hit her first. Blood rang down her arms and dripped from her chin, her leg ached, her hand was numb, and there was a dark hole gnawing at her heart, accompanied by dizzying blood loss.

The first thing she saw was the pendant, and she grabbed it immediately with her good hand, clutching the Queen's memories close to her chest. The Queen, who was standing over her, waiting patiently.

And the young girl was smiling at her, a gentle, sweet, genuine smile that suddenly made her seem so much more human, so much closer to the little golden-haired child who loved so deeply it shattered her soul.

"Thank you," she said, and Clarisse couldn't help noticing how distant her voice sounded. The dagger Clarisse had struck her with had been pulled out – by herself, evidently, and was discarded on the ground. Her white dress was stained red, and when she opened her mouth to speak again, Clarisse saw blood between her teeth, as if some had unceremoniously welled up from inside, and was forcibly swallowed. When she moved, her movements were slow and painful, her hand trembling when she reached out to touch the cold pendant in Clarisse's hand. "You took my memories," she stated, a thin trail of blood trickling from the corner of her mouth, "and in return, I shall take yours. But take this cure, and save the person you love. It's the least I can do for you; the only way I can pay you back."

 _'For killing you,'_ Clarisse thought bitterly. But now the pendant was warm, almost vibrating, and Clarisse looked down to see that the white bleakness had warmed with a healthy pink glow. When she looked up, mouth open to say something – to thank the Queen or ask for an explanation – anything, she found the cave empty. The Queen was nowhere in sight, no signs of her existence. But there were bandages waiting on the table, something Clarisse didn't recall ever being there.

Slowly, her movements pain-addled and uncertain, Clarisse clumsily wrapped her hand, her arm, and her leg. She wiped away some blood from her face with a wet cloth, quickly packed the rest of her meager belongings with some food and water. She hesitated when she saw the soldier's sack, but decided to leave it where it was: she didn't need it. Eager to leave the suffocating silence of the now-empty cave, Clarisse stepped out into the sunlight, strolling with purposeful steps towards the forest-

Which sighed and shuddered beneath her feet. Before her eyes, Clarisse watched as green leaves swiveled up, bark peeling from trees; birds fell from nests, disintegrating into a skeleton before their tiny bodies fell to the ground. The grass bowed their heads, turning yellow, and what had moments ago been a lush, green forest crumbled to dust and was swept away by a gust of familiar desert wind. Behind her, only the cave remained, but the stone seemed suddenly brittle, and she thought that after a few weeks of harsh, desert treatment, it would very likely collapse.

Clarisse turned away, feeling the reassuring pulse of the cure in her hand, and began her journey home.

* * *

 **Obviously not the best I can do, but I'm not in the mood to write a second draft for it. It'll have to do. Thank you for reading!**


	14. Epilogue

**Epilogue**

Nobody in their right mind would've let her in through the front doors, but crawling in through the infirmary window in the middle of the night was something no one really expected would happen, but was unsurprised when it did. She easily snuck past the drowsy guards, excitement rising in her heart as she remembered Chris, laughing, smiling, _being_ with her, and now that she had the cure, that Chris would be coming back – this time without a mental fray to restrain him.

Even in his coma-like state, he seemed disturbed. His brows were pulled into a permanent frown, the muscles on his jaw tightening and loosening, his body occasionally twitching: even in his sleep, he was not in peace. The dark spider web lines had spread from his temple, stretching across his cheeks, around his eyes and mouth, and were reaching downwards past his collar. It was the fifth night, almost the sixth day, and his condition was on the turning point between critical and terminal. But Clarisse spent one more minute staring down at his face, trying to memorize every detail under the distracting thin, black lines.

The Queen had promised to take her memories, presumably after she had given Chris the cure. The substance in the bottle had condensed during her journey, and was now a watery pink liquid waiting to do its work. Carefully, she unplugged the cork, tipped Chris's head back, and dripped the cure into his mouth. His throat bobbed as he swallowed, and for several terrifying moments, nothing happened.

Then Clarisse watched as the lines across his face and neck began to fade and disappear, the poison driven out by the cure, and with a shuddering gasp, Chris's eyes snapped open. He stared up at the darkness for a second, reveling in the peaceful night before his vision shifted and saw a woman peering anxiously down at him, biting her lip nervously. She wasn't beautiful, but she attracted him in a way princesses never could. Strands of her shoulder-length brown hair, silvery in the moonlight, fell from a messy ponytail; her reddish brown eyes were filled with worry. There was a dark scab across her cheek, and unconsciously, he reached up to trace it. Her hand was wrapped with bandages, rough against his skin when she clutched his hand in her own and pressed the tip of his fingers against her chapped lips.

"Chris…?" she whispered hesitatingly. She knew him, somehow, but for the love of God, he couldn't remember her at all.

"Who are you?" he wondered, his voice just as soft. He sat up slowly so that they were eye-level, and he grabbed her hand with both of his, holding them almost pleadingly. "Do I know you?"

Her expression was heartbreaking.

"You… don't remember me?"

 _The Queen promised to take my memories, but it wasn't_ my _memories, it was_ his _memories of_ me _._

Chris shook his head. "I'm sorry, but I don't remember you at all."

But surprisingly, she smiled, despite a tear that clung to her lashes. "It's okay," she whispered. She leaned close, freeing her hand from his clutch and wrapping her arms around his neck. She smelled like the desert, like dust and the sun and blood and sweat, but there a fragrance underneath that, like a scentless flower blooming on a prickly cactus. Chris's arms moved on their own accord, wrapping around her thin waist and pulling her close. "Don't worry," she told him softly, her breath warm and comfortingly against his neck, "You will soon."

* * *

 **I know it has only been ten minutes since I posted the previous chapter but the epilogue is incredibly short and the end! Finally done! Thank you for reading! Bye!**


End file.
